


Waiting to Fall

by tabbygyson, UnchartedCloud



Series: What We Deserve [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Porn, Bellamy Blake & Clarke Griffin are Best Friends, Bisexual Clarke Griffin, Bisexual Disaster Clarke Griffin, Bisexual Raven Reyes, Canon Disabled Character, Canon Queer Character, Canon Queer Relationship, Canon Rewrite, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Clarke Griffin & Raven Reyes are Best Friends, Clexa Endgame, Endgame Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Established Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Established Octavia Blake/Lincoln, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Gay Disaster Lexa (The 100), Hurt/Comfort, Lexa & Raven Reyes Friendship, Lincoln & Lexa Friendship, Minor Octavia Blake/Lincoln, Octavia Blake & Clarke Griffin are Best Friends, Octavia Blake & Lexa Friendship, Original Character(s), POV Clarke Griffin, POV Queer Character, Plot, Queer Friendly, hooooo boysie have we got a fic for you, if two idiots failing to communicate is your jam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:46:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 110,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28112613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tabbygyson/pseuds/tabbygyson, https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnchartedCloud/pseuds/UnchartedCloud
Summary: Eight days after receiving a gunshot wound to the abdomen, Lexa wakes up in Arkadia. She's injured, weak, and a shadow of the Commander she once was...but she's alive. Several miles away, Roan kom Azgeda has laid claim to her throne in Polis, and is marshaling the might of the Coalition against Skaikru. Clarke must stave off war long enough for Lexa to recover her strength, knowing full well that once she does, Clarke will have to risk losing her all over again. In this final part, she and Lexa will have to fight to secure a future together - without falling apart.A canon universe fic. Also known as Nobody Dies AU. (3/3)
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Series: What We Deserve [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1722700
Comments: 159
Kudos: 267





	1. Eight Days

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! Welcome to Part III of Nobody Dies AU!
> 
> That's right, this is part the third, the epic conclusion to our incredibly indulgent project to fix the mistakes of The 100 S3. If you'd like to catch up with the story so far, check out this work's collection to find Part I, What We Deserve, and Part II, The Stars Watch On. Or, if bitter, recovering Lexa and helicopter healer Clarke is what you're here for, read on!
> 
> The What We Deserve series is the culmination of two years of writing, the product of a pair of nerds who decided we hated the way 307 went and set out to fix it. It is a canon universe fic that picks up just before the start of S3 - though this portion begins a little over a week after the end of Part II, with Lexa recovering from being shot by Titus.
> 
> The flow of the series thus far has been something like this:
> 
> Part I: slow burn as these idiots figure out how to be together
> 
> Part II: fluff and smut as these idiots figure out what it's like to be together
> 
> Part III: ANGST and ANGST and MORE ANGST as these idiots figure out how to _stay_ together
> 
> There are soft moments in between, some scattered smut, and a plot (we guess) to look forward to, but have no fear: Clexa is very much endgame. And as always, only bad guys die in our Nobody Dies AU. 
> 
> More of these authors' notes will appear throughout the story, which we plan to update once a week on Wednesdays. Until then, enjoy! And thanks for joining us.
> 
> TW: hospital setting (IVs, heart monitor, stitches, etc); drinking

The soft beeping of the EKG is a comforting sound.

Any other repetitive beeping sound is usually enough to drive a body mad, but this one - with its steady rhythm and matching green line - steadies Clarke's breathing every time she hears it. Because this one doesn't warn of impending doom by equipment failure or that the battery pack on her neighbor's smoke detector needs to be replaced; this one measures the strong, steady beating of Lexa's heart beneath her ribs.

 _Leksa kom Trikru_ has been dead to the world - figuratively, in the most important sense, but literally in a number of others - for eight days now. The trauma caused by her gunshot wound and the following mad dash into the night, delaying her medical treatment for hours, meant that it was safest to put her in a medically induced coma. The bullet caught her just beneath her ribcage and managed to miss most of her vital organs, but the surgery to retrieve the bullet and repair the damaged tissue was still fraught with danger and took far longer than Clarke would have liked. By the end of it, the wound had taken such a toll on her body that Abby and her team deemed it necessary to shut it down. Only for a while, she'd promised. After blood transfusion after blood transfusion after blood transfusion, the Commander at last stabilized. 

Not that she was the Commander of the Twelve Clans anymore. Or the Commander of anything, really. Word of the altercation that led to all this spread rapidly and, despite not having a body, _Azgeda_ was quick to declare _Leksa kom Trikru_ dead. That left Roan to ascend the throne, and he wasted no time in consolidating his power by turning the collected attention of the Coalition on his last remaining enemy. Though they have not managed to amass a force large enough to pose a threat, Arkadia's leadership knows that day may not be far off. And so the last week has been a mad scramble to shore up whatever support they could manage to find among the clans - which has been easier said than done, given that most of them believe Lexa is dead. Only two among them, Helena because of her proximity to Lexa and Indra because of her proximity to Arkadia, know the truth: that Lexa is now sleeping peacefully in the converted remains of the Ark, her coma having been brought to an end.

Which, taken together, explains why Clarke can't seem to keep her eyes open. She sits in a chair across the room from Lexa's bed, various apparatus which monitor her vital signs beeping and puffing away beside it. The steady rhythm of it all has the largely sleepless nights of the last week catching up with her, despite the anxious excitement brought on by the knowledge that Lexa could - _should_ \- wake up at any minute. Abby gave her the cocktail that would end the coma the night before, and as long as everything goes as planned she should open her eyes soon...but Clarke's exhaustion, her all-night vigil, and the stillness of the room has Clarke closing hers.

That is, until the beeping of the EKG stutters...spikes...and then flatlines.

Clarke's eyes go wide, her own heart all but stopped in her chest as she shoots up in her chair. Her eyes go straight to the screen of the EKG, realizing only a second afterwards the reason for the sudden change. Lexa's heart hasn't stopped. On the contrary - she's sitting up in bed, eyes open, and the EKG sensors in one hand.

It takes Clarke's brain a second to catch up, and in that time Lexa's eyes get a little wider. She begins to move frantically - she throws the sensors aside, paws at the tape holding the IV in the back of her hand, rips the needle out. Her eyes go wild and she begins to struggle to extricate herself from her bed linens in increasing amounts of panic.

“Lexa!” Clarke practically leaps to her side, adrenaline and euphoria and a surge of concern making her initially off kilter. It takes her a moment to get her bearings, in which time Lexa blessedly pauses - though she’s already attempted to stand up and is using the table next to her as a much needed support. 

“Baby, it’s okay - you’re okay!” Clarke doesn’t touch her yet, stays about a foot away, but puts herself completely within Lexa’s line of sight. “I’m right here, you’re safe. Relax, please. You’re hurting yourself,” and she indicates the oozing dark blood that begins to stain the front of Lexa’s gown, indicating that she’s torn her stitches.

Lexa doesn't seem to recognize her, but her eyes drop to where Clarke is pointing. Only upon seeing the blooming blood does she seem to realize that she's hurt at all, and a pained cry escapes her as she falls back on the bed. She clutches at her side as she takes rapid breaths in through gritted teeth, panting against the pain.

The sound rips at Clarke’s heart and she’s at Lexa’s side in an instant. She knows the signs of panic, has seen and experienced it enough times to know - so still she doesn’t touch her, but stays well within arms reach. “Lexa, please relax. I’m here, it’s me.”

Lexa’s eyes are frantic, but eventually she meets Clarke’s. Despite the circumstances, and the way Clarke’s heart aches to see Lexa so scared and upset, she can’t help but feel an immense wave of relief at seeing her like this. Even wild and manic and in pain, she’s alive. Part of Clarke never really believed it would happen until right this second.

“Do you...remember anything?” As the question leaves her lips, a bit of the euphoria washes away. There was always a possibility that the blood loss and trauma injured more than they thought, and an induced coma can do any number of things to the brain. “Do you know who I am?”

Again, it seems to be only through pointing it out that Lexa's brain seems to catch up. Her eyes are so wide that Clarke can see the whites all around her iris - but upon asking the question, that wideness begins to shrink. Her eyes soften, the panic receding, and in a voice so dry and raspy it's almost unrecognizable, she stutters out, "Cl...Clarke?"

Relief again, even stronger this time. Too strong, perhaps - her legs were already wobbly with fatigue and shake a little even now.

"Clarke," Lexa says again, stronger this time, and just saying the name seems to calm her further. She doesn't relax, exactly, but when she looks around again it's with only mild panic. "Where am I?"

“The Ark. Well, what’s left of it.” Clarke plants a hand on Lexa’s bed and leans her bodyweight forward onto it, hoping that will be enough to keep herself upright. Her exhaustion hasn’t let up in the week she’s been here, and she’s learned that the only way to not pass out is to not, under any circumstances, fall over or otherwise sit down. “There’s a lot to catch you up on, but first... can I help you? That IV - needle - you just pulled out of your arm was giving you painkillers. If you let me put it back in, that will hurt less. And we’ll have to fix the stitches.”

"No. No, I have to...go..." Lexa's face twists in pain again and she puts a hand to her forehead. "The Ark. I don't remember..." She looks at Clarke again. "How long have I been out?"

Clarke adjusts her hip so that she’s half leaning on the bed and grasps Lexa’s hand in both of her own. “It’s been over a week since we left Polis. Titus was waiting for me, when we went to my room. He...” Clarke can’t help but look down at Lexa’s side, at the still small but growing amount of blood seeping out of it, and swallows hard. “You were shot. With the gun I had hidden under my bed. We had to get you out, or you would’ve died. You almost died anyway.”

"A _week_ ," Lexa repeats, and the work of putting that emphasis on the word must send another ripple of pain through her. "Clarke, he'll have - Roan, _Azgeda_." She starts fighting her blankets again. "I have to go."

“No.”

Clarke grabs both of Lexa’s arms, tight. Normally it would be a pipe dream for Clarke to keep Lexa from moving, but she’s weak from the trauma and bedrest and Clarke is able to keep her down - if using the majority of her strength to do so. “Lexa, you can’t go back. Not like this.” Clarke takes a deep breath and waits until Lexa meets her eyes again. “Roan is Commander now. He declared you dead when they couldn’t find you, and he’s taken over Polis.”

Lexa's eyes go wide at that. She looks at Clarke, shock fading to misery fading to...white, hot rage. "That _bastard!_ Take my city from me, my throne, _my Coalition!"_

“Lexa. Lexa!” Clarke holds Lexa’s face between both her hands, forcing her to look into her eyes. “Please, we’ll talk about all of this. I promise, just please let us help you. Let me help you. I...almost lost you. The worst is past, but you still need to heal. Please, my love.”

The extended eye contact seems to help, as the rage in her eyes gradually calms. Lexa sighs through her nose and closes her eyes, tipping her head into Clarke's hands. In a small voice she asks, "It was that bad?"

Images from that night flash behind Clarke’s eyes, as they have every few hours and every night since they returned to Arkadia. “Yes,” she whispers, and her eyes dip down, focused elsewhere on the pictures in her mind. 

Lexa falling to the ground. Lexa practically lifeless in the back of the truck, Clarke’s blood flowing through her veins slower than she was losing her own. Lexa’s unconscious face, serene as ever, looking for the world like a breathing corpse in an induced coma. 

“You were dying,” Clarke hears herself say. “You almost did, so many times. If you never woke up after the coma, if my mom hadn’t already had the surgical room set up, if we hadn’t gotten you here in time. If you’d reacted badly to my...” she blinks a few times, suddenly remembering the purpose of all this. Lexa is awake, with no painkillers, and she’s bleeding. Again. “Let me help you. Please.”

A moment passes before Lexa opens her eyes, and when she does she looks not at Clarke but at the IV bag hanging above her head. "I don't know that I trust it," she says lowly. Then she looks up at Clarke. "But I trust you."

The admission makes Clarke's chest ache. "I won't let anything happen to you, I promise. Resetting your stitches will take time, and it will be painful. This will help."

She goes about fixing the chaos that is the IV, hanging it back where it belongs and testing it for any air pockets or abnormalities before fetching a new syringe. Clarke never strays far from Lexa's side and keeps everything she's doing within her eyesight, aware that even if Lexa can't understand what she's doing, she'll still want to know what's happening.

"We can stop giving you this in a few days, if you want. But you need it for now, the pain is too intense." Clarke holds the new syringe between her fingers and holds a hand out for Lexa's arm. "May I?"

It's strange to see the wariness in Lexa's eyes - real wariness, not uncertainty about how Clarke is going to react to something she's said or some such thing, but actual _fear_. But her work in the last few minutes has helped to calm Lexa, it seems, and after a moment's hesitation she puts her hand in Clarke's.

Clarke gives her hand what she hopes is a reassuring squeeze. "I'll tell you what I'm doing, alright? I'm going to insert this needle into your wrist. You'll barely feel it, and once it's in you won't feel it at all. Then the painkillers - what's in this bag here - will be able to get into your bloodstream. All it does is help your muscles relax and dull the pain."

Clarke has had nervous patients before. As she explains, she pushes down gently on the upper part of Lexa's wrist for a vein. "You'll feel much better, I promise. And I won't leave your side," she pushes the needle in, quick and gentle, "until you wake up again."

Lexa winces, but doesn't make a sound. Compared to the hole in her side, a little needle is probably nothing. "You'll be here?" She repeats, and her voice is much calmer than it was. Clarke turns the valve on the IV and it begins to drip, just as Lexa lifts her other hand to cover Clarke's. "That's a promise?"

"I promise." Clarke quickly tapes the IV in place on Lexa's arm. It's an odd angle, but Clarke isn't deterred and leans forward, reaching out one hand to cup Lexa's jaw. She runs a thumb over her cheekbone and kisses her lips softly. "I'll be right here. Rest now, my love."

Lexa nods, and pushes her forehead against Clarke's. Whether it's Clarke's reassurance or the quick work of the drugs is hard to tell, but shortly after both the hands on Clarke's go limp again. Lexa's weight sinks back against the mattress, a small sigh through parted lips a welcome reminder that this is sleep, not death, that takes her.

Clarke lingers there for only a moment before the jamb on the door clicks open, and its glass pane slides back. Eric Jackson's gelled hair precedes the rest of his head as he pokes it into the room, and glances between Lexa and Clarke.

"Is she asleep again?" he asks.

Clarke raises an eyebrow. "Have you been there this whole time?"

"Uh - yeah. Well, sorta." The rest of him comes into the room then, a clipboard tucked under the arm of his lab coat. "We got an alert from her EKG, but. When I got here, it seemed like you had it handled."

With a snort, Clarke turns her attention back to Lexa even as she says over her shoulder, "You could have sedated her, you know. That would've made this a bit easier."

"See, that's the fun thing - we did." Eric comes to the other side of the bed and peers - without touching - at the splotch of blood that seems to have stopped expanding for the moment. "Not all patients react well to the drug though. We'll try something else before we fix these."

"I should've guessed she wouldn't react well to it." Clarke can't help a small, affectionate smile as she rearranges Lexa's blankets. "She can be a bit stubborn. I can fix her stitches myself, if you wouldn't mind just--"

"You absolutely cannot." Clarke hears Abby's voice before she sees her, but a second later the Chancellor and doctor is in the room.

"Oh, uh - and your mom is on the way," Eric tells Clarke with a grin. She promptly levels him with a 'thanks a bunch' look while Abby continues.

"You know as well as I do that treating her is a conflict of interest for you," she says, and stops beside Eric. Rather than looking at the wound, however, she levels a look across the bed at Clarke. "We'll take care of it."

Clarke has been known to go against her mother's orders when it comes to political decisions, and her instinct is to fight her now. But Abby is a trained doctor, far more talented than Clarke and the superior healer between the two of them. In this realm, Clarke can only defer to her authority. "You're right," she says, tasting only a little bitterness on her tongue at the word, "you should do it. But I told her I would be here when she wakes up."

"And you will be," Abby assures her. "I'll let you know as soon as we're done. You'll be back before she's any the wiser."

"As soon as you're done," Clarke repeats, and Abby nods. 

Clarke gives one last look at Lexa and raises her free hand to her lips. She knows Lexa is just sleeping, but this past week has been full of goodbyes, all of which could've been the last. Holding Lexa's hand in her own, feeling her pulse in her wrist, is more reassuring than any words her friends and family could offer her. But she lets Lexa's hand go and turns to leave, and at the last moment pulls Abby into a quick hug. "Thank you, Mom. For saving her."

Abby is clearly shocked by the embrace, and it takes her a moment to respond. But she hugs Clarke back, holding her close for a beat before saying, "I'm just glad we could," she says ultimately, and presses a kiss to the top of her head. "Now go get some fresh air. We'll find you when we're done."

It takes Clarke several minutes to wind her way through the many halls that make up the remains of Alpha Station, now the backbone of the Sky People's central settlement. It's changed a great deal since last she saw it: eight months of work has brought some of the hydroponics systems back from Farm Station's remains to be set up in one quadrant of the remains of Alpha, while all that remains of their medical supplies and those salvaged from the Mountain make up the hospital that occupies another. Arkadia's government is housed in a third: the council chambers, records, and intelligence gathering spanning a few, massive rooms with what computer systems they've managed to salvage. Nearly all of the personal residences are here as well, on the converted upper levels, and every one of them now has running water and regular access to electricity. They are far from self-sufficient here the way they were in space, but they are on their way.

When Clarke steps out into the open air, it feels like the first time in days. It's late afternoon, meaning the sounds of various types of work still echo from all corners of the settlement - the spark of welder's torches from the repairs being made to the fence, the clang of wrenches and rolling machinery near the newly installed hydropumps, the roar of a truck engine hauling back neatly sectioned wood and scavenged metal to feed the construction of new, more comfortable residences. But there is noise coming from the bar as well - with its rough, outdoor tables and open air bartop tucked in the shadow of the looming Alpha Station - as some of the early shift workers blow off some steam. She sees Bellamy there with a few other members of the security forces, now out of uniform after a long watch, laughing about one thing or another. Everything seems...perfectly normal. As though all of the work being done now is just run-of-the-mill, rather than the preparations for a possible siege. 

She turns her back on all of this, though, and instead heads to the ramshackle structure that serves as the city's garage and engineering lab. The clang of tools and spark of torches are here as well, but Clarke bypasses most of it to reach the back corner, where Raven has claimed a space for herself. Sure enough, as she weaves between work stations, she catches sight of a familiar red jacket and the flashing light of a soldering iron.

Clarke knows better than to surprise the engineer, particularly when she's wielding something dangerous. So she waits off to one side, easily within Raven's view whenever she happens to look up.

Raven isn't a fan of weapons, preferring to work on vehicles and technology that will enable a better life for everyone in the city, but the council has her working on retrofitting her buggies with some kind of rocket. It looks far more like a giant, malformed pipe to Clarke, but she's never had an eye for these things. Raven grumbles as she works and though Clarke can't hear her very well, she distinctly sees her mouth the words "council" and "orders" and, perhaps most telling and least surprising, "assholes."

She does eventually spot Clarke, at which point she continues to melt some wire onto another wire for several more seconds before sitting back. "She emerges!" she says, pulling her goggles off her eyes and setting them atop her forehead. She arches an eyebrow at Clarke, a smirk hanging from one corner of her lips. "Did you come outside to treat your looming vitamin D deficiency, or did you just miss me?"

Clarke rolls her eyes, but grins at her best friend. It would be annoying how easily Raven makes fun of her, if Clarke didn't love her so much. "I came for that iconic Raven, can't-find-anywhere-else smell of melting metal. That, and I can't seem to find the communicator anywhere. I wonder who could have taken it...?"

"I don't have it stashed in my underwear drawer, if that's what you're asking," Raven answers. She puts down her tool and slaps off one glove, using that hand to reach for a shelf above her. The communicator in question, the counterpart to the one Clarke had with her in Polis, sits there, and she takes it down and tosses it to Clarke. "There's been no news, though. Helena's fleet is keeping up their scouting, but Nia's warriors haven't moved from their camp yet. They probably know she's watching them."

"Well I don't imagine you use it much for news," Clarke suggests with a wink.

"No, but don't worry - I deleted all the sexts." Raven says that with such a straight face that Clarke briefly wonders if that was actually a joke. "What d'you need it for, anyway?"

"Lexa's awake." The words come out in a rush of relief. Clarke still almost can't believe it. She leans against what appears to be only half of a truck next to her. "Er, she was awake. She was a little disoriented and ripped her stitches, but. She's out of the woods. Helena should know." Clarke holds the communicator back out to Raven. "You should tell her. You keep better track of the thing anyway, and I'd rather not run into a sext you've forgotten to delete."

"You should know by now to have more faith in me than that," Raven smirks. She looks down at the communicator though and the expression fades. "Are you sure you don't want to be the one to tell her? You're the one who's done all the work, and she's closer to you."

Clarke inclines her head, watches Raven's face shift from her usual confidence to one of uncertainty. It's unlike her friend to doubt herself, but the reason is a good one. As odd as Raven and Helena's new...whatever it is, can sometimes seem, Clarke considers them both family. They deserve happiness, and all the better if they find it with each other.

"We're close, but so are the two of you." Clarke puts the communicator on top of the pipe Raven was previously working on, directly in her way but not in any immediate danger. "If she wants to talk to me, she can always ask. But I think she was far more ecstatic to find you on the other end of that thing than me. I'd find the cuteness gross if it wasn't so, you know. Cute."

"It isn't _cute_ ," Raven answers, now eying the communicator in front of her nose. She eventually does shake the other work glove off her hand and set it down in favor of the communicator, though. "It's _torrid,_ and...I dunno, exciting. But sure, I'll send the message along." Cradling the device between both hands, she looks up at Clarke. "I'm glad she's awake."

"Torrid, huh? A wordsmith and an engineer, what can't you do?" Clarke's grin doesn't disappear, but turns more into a soft smile. "I'm glad she is too. I know what my mother said, but I couldn't stop thinking that something would happen. While she was asleep, or that she wouldn't wake up...but she's fine, and herself. Her usual, difficult self."

Raven snorts, and turns her attention to the communicator's screen. "Yeah. Good luck with that."

Clarke leaves her to it and heads back out into the sunshine. She makes her way back the way she came, past Alpha and the bar again. It's tempting to stop and have a drink with Bellamy, but she wants to let Indra know that Lexa is awake as soon as possible and the _Trikru_ chieftain can usually be found in their makeshift, combination training yard and shooting range.

Sure enough, as Clarke makes the annoyingly long trek - of course the garage would have to be on the exact opposite end of the city to the training yard - she can see forms sparring in the distance. When she gets closer she identifies Indra and several other _Trikru_ warriors lounging around the outskirts of the fenced yard as Octavia and Lincoln spar in the center.

" _You've gotten lazy, Linkon!"_ Indra calls in Trigedasleng as Octavia scores a point by _thwapping_ him in the upper arm. The _Trikru_ warriors chuckle, but there's an edge that makes it not altogether kind. " _That's three times you've let this Sky Girl hit you, move your feet."_

The chieftain is leaning against a stack of heavy steel crates, each one latched closed with a pair of buckles half the size of Clarke's face, that she has surmised is the _Skaikru_ equivalent to Polis' equipment pile. She has her arms folded over her chest, and her accompanying warriors are arrayed on top of or otherwise nearby the crates; all turn to look at Clarke as she approaches.

"Speaking of Sky Girls," Indra mutters, loud enough for Clarke to hear. She doesn't move, just turns her head to look at Clarke. "Need something?"

“Yes.” Clarke nods in the warriors’ direction, a silent acknowledgement. “Can I have a word? It’ll just be a minute.”

The warriors, different genders and skin tones and degrees of roughness, all look at each other and then at Indra. She eyes Clarke for a long moment - more to establish some kind of dominance, Clarke suspects, than out of any real suspicion - and then shrugs away from the crates.

" _If he screws up again, remind him what it is to fight a real warrior,"_ she tells the warriors lowly, then joins Clarke. "Lead on, then."

Clarke leads them only about fifty feet or so away - far enough not to be overheard, but not so far as to raise alarm. She waits until she's facing away from the other warriors before raising an eyebrow at Indra. "You don't think Octavia is a real warrior? I wouldn't say that to her face."

"She's learning," Indra answers. "She fights like a caged animal, but that doesn't make up for training and skill. What do you want?"

"Lexa is awake," Clarke says, rather more bluntly than she had with Raven. "She's sedated now, but there's little doubt of her recovery."

Indra's surprise - and sudden interest - is clear on her face. "She's awake?" she repeats, her eyes wide. It takes her all of a second to then attempt to step around Clarke. "I would speak with her."

Clarke is just as quick to grab her arm. Indra stops moving, but looks with a dangerous glint in her eye from Clarke's hand on her arm and back up to her eyes. "You can't, not yet." Despite the intensity of Indra's glare, Clarke doesn't loosen her grip. "She's asleep, and when she wakes up she'll be disoriented and...not her usual self, not right away. She needs time to heal."

"There is a usurper in Polis," Indra says through her teeth. "How much time do you want to give him?"

"No more than I have to. But I won't risk Lexa's life, not after we've only just saved it." Clarke releases Indra, sure that the chieftain will rip out of her grasp given a few more seconds either way. "Her wound needs time to heal. She can't fight Roan like this, she wouldn't stand a chance."

Though clearly still unhappy with the idea, Indra doesn't push back. Even she knows, firsthand, the necessity of letting a wound heal. "Fine," she grumbles, "but I want to be told the second that I can see her. The _second._ "

"Of course. I'll bring you to her myself."

"Good." Indra steps forward and stoops just a little, putting her face directly in Clarke's. "You're lucky she woke up, Sky Girl. Means you can still make good on your promise." There is a threat in her eyes as she adds, "Maybe do a better job this time."

Though Clarke's face, she thinks, doesn't betray any of her thoughts, her heart hammers in her chest. As much as she doesn't need Indra to remind her of the part she had to play in Lexa's near-death, she's still right. Clarke swore to keep Lexa safe, even if it meant losing her own life. She tried to make good on that promise, even that night - there have been many times since that she wished she had, before she knew Lexa would survive.

Clarke says none of this out loud, only meets Indra's eyes, a slight clench to her jaw as she says, "I will do whatever I have to, to keep her safe. As long as I'm alive. Which is why I will tell you as soon as she is ready to see visitors."

The implication in that promise - that she would do anything, including forcing Indra, who is both stronger and more capable of violence, to stay away in whatever way possible - hits home. Rather than be upset by this however, Indra looks mildly impressed. 

"Good," she says - and with little more than that, turns on her heel and returns to her warriors.

As soon as Indra is out of earshot, Clarke lets out a slow breath. As much as she likes her and as solid an ally as _Trikru_ has become, dealing with Indra has never been a particularly easy task. She's glad she didn't have to do much more than reason her out of going straight to Lexa's side - if Indra had chosen to fight her, Clarke isn't sure she could stop her.

Clarke makes her way back to the fence, careful to keep a distance between herself and Indra. Lincoln appears to have picked up the pace, but Octavia is still matching him blow for blow. Though she would never admit it, Clarke has been increasingly impressed with Octavia over the past week. She's been a surprisingly calm and reassuring presence, seeming to understand when Clarke needed quiet and space in a way that Bellamy and Raven couldn't quite grasp.

Not that she's particularly calm now. Clarke is certain she's made improvements in her technique since that nerve-racking duel with Lexa, but to her eyes Octavia still fights like a woman possessed. Lincoln is clearly accustomed to this, however, and makes use of a number of techniques to keep her at bay - and, in the end, scores the next point. That point proves to be the last, as after that Indra sweeps her arm towards the field, summoning her warriors to their feet. As they move onto the field Octavia and Lincoln, evidently uninterested in sharing the space with the rest of them, head in the opposite direction. Spotting Clarke, they both make their way towards her.

"That looked...tiring," Clarke shouts. As they draw nearer she can see the sweat shining on both of their smiling faces. "Who won?" she asks, at a more controlled volume now that they're closer.

"I did," they say in unison. Rather than look annoyed about the other one making the same claim at the exact same time, they both look at each other and grin. 

"Either way, I'm over Indra's verbal abuse," Octavia says. "We were gonna meet Bellamy at the bar - wanna come?"

"You took the words right out of my mouth. I have some news for the three of you anyway."

Neither of them press her about her news until they reach the bar, for which Clarke is grateful. She'd rather not have to say this more than - what has it been, three times so far today? As much as she'd like to sing from the rooftops that Lexa is finally, blessedly alright, she's also exhausted. The events of the day and her near-constant lack of sleep combine to make even sharing good news feel burdensome. That, and the fact that the council has encouraged Clarke not to share Lexa’s identity with any more Arkadians than necessary. Crowing about her health from the top of Alpha would probably be on the list of things they’d tell her not to do.

The bar isn't packed when they get there, as the sun is only just setting and most of the inhabitants of Arkadia won't be retiring from their work until it's too dark to continue. And yet, still it's rowdy. Bellamy and the rest of the security force - warriors, soldiers, guards, there's so many names Clarke can't keep track - are loud enough to make it feel as full as it will truly be in an hour or two.

"Princess!" Bellamy calls when he sees her, raising his cup with a big ol' grin on his lips. "There you are. I was starting to think they'd locked you up in there!"

"No cage can keep me, Bellamy, you must know that by now." Despite the ache of fatigue in every muscle of her body, Clarke can't help but smile back. The three of them take a seat at Bellamy's table, two of his fellow security guards immediately vacating the seats around him. It seems ever since Clarke returned, people have decided to give her a wide berth. It doesn't bother her much - or at least, she hasn't had time to consider it long enough to let it bother her.

"What's on tap tonight?" Clarke grabs the cup closest to her without someone's fist around it and sniffs - and then recoils. " _Fuck,_ that is foul. What is that?"

"Alcohol," Bellamy laughs. "You've let that fancy tower make you soft, Griffin. We don't have any fancy wines and whiskeys here."

"I heard Monty's planning to try his hand at making gin with the next batch though," Lincoln says from next to Clarke. "Guess he got a recipe from one of the _Yujleda_ traders that came by on their way to First Thaw."

"Gin, huh? Have we ever had gin?" Clarke deliberately ignores Bellamy and pours herself a glass of whatever version of moonshine Monty's made this time. It smells extremely vaguely of blackberries. She sniffs it again and decides, as she always does, that quicker is better - and downs it. "Every time I drink that," she chokes out, a little breathless from the burn of it down her throat, "it reminds me how important peace is. We need some variety in here."

"Here here," Bellamy laughs, and tosses back the rest of his. Tapping his cup on the table he stands up. 

"Big brother," Octavia says, picking up Clarke's empty cup and waggling it at Bellamy. "How about enough for the table?"

"I was already on it," he says, in the sort of put upon tone that only a parent - or an older sibling, perhaps - could manage. Turning away from the table, he wanders over to the bar and grabs an empty liter bottle. He sticks it under a spigot that spews forth clear liquid and returns with a stack of shot glasses, one for everyone. 

"So," he says, passing them out and promptly splashing moonshine into each. Once all are filled, he sets the bottle down with a thump. "What are we drinking to?"

“Well, I can suggest something,” Clarke suggests casually. She grabs one of the shots and raises it - a familiar and, surprisingly, comforting gesture. “Lexa woke up. She’s officially not going to die. Which seems like a low bar now that I've said it out loud, but feels very much like a win.”

Bellamy's, Octavia's, and Lincoln's faces all register surprise and joy at the same time, a small cheer going up from them in response. Bellamy - already a few drinks in - stands up and lifts his glass.

"To Lexa...Come...tree--"

 _"Leksa kom Trikru,"_ Lincoln corrects with a grin.

"Yeah, that," Bellamy grins in return, pointing at him. "To Lexa, being too stubborn to die."

"Here here," Octavia says, and they all shoot their shot.

Clarke recovers faster from this one, already used to the bite of alcohol. “I know I had almost nothing to do with it. Mom treated her. Lexa, as Bellamy pointed out, is too stubborn to die.” She shrugs, a little embarrassed already at what she’s about to say. “But I’ve needed you all, more than usual, since the...since we got back. I couldn’t ask for better friends. For a better family. Let’s do one more. To all of you, for helping me survive this.”

In this time, Lincoln has put one hand on Clarke's shoulder, and Bellamy has covered her free hand with his. That leaves Octavia to lean across Bellamy to pick up the bottle and start pouring again.

"I mean, if you're drinking to me," she says as she does. Once done she picks up her glass and finishes, "I'll drink all night."

“You know, I knew I could count on you,” Clarke teases. In reality she’s supremely grateful Octavia has, once again, gotten her out of whatever mess her feelings have gotten her into. “What do you say, boys? One more, to commemorate the day before I become a very confused and angry Commander’s keeper?”

"To _Leksa kom Trikru,_ the first Commander of the Twelve Clans," Octavia says, "And her very tried, very tired keeper."

" _Leksa kom Trikru,_ and _Klark kom Skaikru,"_ Lincoln agrees.

"...Sure." Bellamy shrugs, "That." And he takes his shot.

“Don’t worry, Bell,” Clarke settles back into her seat, for the moment focused entirely on this experience. Her friends, her family. The people she can always rely on, no matter what, being carefree and happy together. “I’m still just Clarke.”

"That's my favorite type of Clarke," he says, and his smile is fond and brilliant. It's the kind of expression - and sentiment - that he never would have expressed a year ago.

The others manage to find more reasons to drink, but the longer they talk the antsier Clarke grows. She sits out of the next round - then two - of shots, and as the sun sets and the bar fills, she starts to wonder if her mother has forgotten her promise. It's just as she's decided to get up and go find out for herself that one of the medical staff, now off duty, taps her on the shoulder. Lexa's stitches have been fixed, and the anesthetic is set to wear off soon.

Clarke wastes no time, in fact she runs back to Alpha and Lexa’s room. She says a quick goodbye to her friends, who both understand and only half register what she says, before practically sprinting off into the darkness. 

By the time she quite literally stumbles into Lexa’s room, it’s only five or so minutes later. Lexa is still asleep, looking more at peace than Clarke has seen her in...well, it would be ever, except that she’s incredibly familiar with unconscious Lexa at this point.

She pauses in the doorway, holding her breath despite the burn in her lungs from having half run all the way here. When it becomes clear that Lexa is not imminently in the process of waking up, she lets it out. 

Processing that, her excitement aside, it might be some time before Lexa wakes up again, she finds the book and blanket she's been using the last few days and draws her chair up beside Lexa's bed. She sets the back up so it faces the foot of the bed and positions herself so that she's well within Lexa's eyesight. Then she props her feet up on the edge of the bed frame, props her book open on her thigh, and settles in to wait.

The next thing she knows, there's a hand tugging at hers and pulling her out of what must have been a light - and brief, all too brief - snooze. She blinks blearily and lifts her head to see Lexa smiling at her.

“Lexa.” It comes out far more desperate than Clarke intends, but she doesn’t adjust her tone. She’s beyond embarrassment at this point - but not beyond leaping to her feet and immediately checking Lexa’s vitals and expression for any abnormalities. “Are you alright? How do you feel?”

" _Fine,_ " Lexa answers, shaking her head lazily. It's only then that Clarke notices her smile is a little...goofy. " _Good. Good is better than fine, and I feel better than fine. So, good."_

A small laugh bubbles up in Clarke’s throat, but she does her best to force it down. “I see Eric might’ve gone a little overboard on the sedatives...can’t quite blame him. Do you feel any pain? On a scale of one to ten, do you...”

" _Love you?"_ Lexa asks giddily. She doesn't seem to notice that everything she says is in Trigedasleng. Or that she's even saying everything she's saying, for that matter; the words just keep spilling forth as Lexa giggles. " _On a scale of one to ten...more. More than the moon loves the sea and the grass loves the sun. More than the stars light the night and flowers color the plains. Shall I compare thee to a summer's day..._ "

“I’m going to take that as a one on the pain scale,” Clarke chuckles. She double checks the EKG and IV, and then moves on to examining Lexa’s side. “Looks like you’re all patched up. But be careful moving, alright? You can’t get up from this bed, not yet. Not for a few more days.”

" _Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do shake the darling bugs...bugs._ " Lexa begins giggling again. " _Buds. Buds of May. Mays and days, days, days - how many days?"_

Clarke turns away from the EKG to find Lexa's eyes surprisingly focused on her - and somewhat narrowed in the process, as though she did actually catch on the possibility of being confined to this bed. Before Clarke can answer, however, there's a knock on the wall by the door.

"Uh...hey," Raven says. The look on her face says she was present for all of that, and despite not knowing Trigedasleng she can tell that something's up. "The others said I would find you here. Is she okay?"

“She’s...” Clarke looks from Lexa to Raven, back to Lexa and back to Raven again before lamely coming up with, “out of it. Eric sedated her before she first woke up, but she was the opposite of sedated. It must not work as well on her, or her adrenaline was too high...either way, he clearly overcompensated.” Clarke takes a seat at Lexa’s side. “Anyway, she’s fine. As fine as she can be. And I am in fact here. What’s up?”

"Helena responded," Raven says, and tosses the communicator to Clarke. For someone so protective of her fragile devices, she's awfully certain that Clarke is regularly ready to catch them.

" _Helena!"_ Lexa says, and the _Floukru_ chieftain's name is familiar enough in both languages that Raven turns her arched eyebrows on her. " _Is she here? I miss her."_ She reaches a clumsy hand out to paw at Clarke. " _I am so glad that you are friends with her, Klark, she is so wonderful..._ "

"What is she saying?" Raven asks.

“Oh,” Clarke twines her fingers with Lexa’s, half to feel her skin against her own and half to keep Lexa from swatting randomly at her arm and face, “just that she misses Helena. And that she hopes Helena took it easy on you the first time.”

Raven sputters. "She knows about that??" 

Lexa seems only capable of speaking Trigedasleng in her current state, but it's clear she understands English; she turns her narrowed eyes on Raven. " _What?"_

Clarke laughs, a shit-eating grin stretched across her face. “She does now. Don’t worry, there’s a fifty percent chance she’ll forget all of this by tomorrow.”

" _I will not forget this,"_ Lexa answers, mustering a surprising amount of coherence and indignation. " _What is she talking about?"_

Helena's message finally loads and scrolls across the screen: 

_Praise the ancestors, thank the Flame, and anyone else who might be listening. Tell her I send my love, and that I say she needs to take it easy. On herself and all of you. Don't forget to give her the puzzle box I sent._

Clarke hands the communicator over to Lexa, assuming she’ll be able to read English as well as she’s apparently able to understand it. “I’ll explain it later, babe.” She turns her attention back to Raven with a raised eyebrow. “Puzzle box?”

Lexa holds the communicator between both hands - squints at it, blinks a few times, holds it further from her, and then closer - and mutters, " _This...paper is moving..."_

"Yeah, I had the same question." Raven puts her hands in the pockets of her jacket and shrugs. "She sent something along with the shipment from _Floukru_ two days ago, including something with your name on it. I didn't open it; just sent it up to your room."

“I guess it must be a puzzle box, whatever that is.” Clarke watches Lexa as she struggles with the communicator, eyes squinted in thought as if it’s a complicated math problem instead of four rotating sentences. “Hopefully we’ll be able to move to my room soon. She’s going to go crazy in here, and no one is going to enjoy that.”

Clarke wrests the communicator from Lexa’s grip with not too much effort and holds it back out to Raven, not quite as confident in her throwing abilities as the engineer is in her own. “Thanks for bringing it. I’m surprised you didn’t come to the bar earlier, I expected to see you.”

"Yeah, well. That's what happens when you've got an _actual_ job." Raven eyes Lexa as she steps forward to take the communicator, as though she's worried the injured woman might lash out. There's no reason for concern, however, as Lexa is now busy just smiling blearily up at Clarke. "Buuuuut that was what I was on my way to do when they said you came here. Wanna come? Bellamy is sloshed, but Monty is supposed to come around with Miller soon."

“Yeah, I’d love to, but...” 

Clarke looks back at Lexa and meets her eyes - bright, sparkling forest green. Shining with a smile that may be drug induced, but Clarke has been dreaming about seeing again every night for over a week. She almost can’t imagine standing up from this bed, let alone leaving the room. Not when she can spend every second that Lexa is awake reminding herself that she’s alive. “Maybe tomorrow? I don’t want to leave her, it’s just been...”

"...a lot. Yeah, I get it." Raven looks at Lexa. "Don't get too kooky on her, okay?"

Lexa takes absolutely no mind of Raven, but as though she's prompted by the request she gives Clarke's hand a squeeze. " _You're beautiful."_

"I'll take that as a yes," the engineer says with a shrug. She pockets the communicator. "Get some sleep, Clarke. Okay? Don't stay up all night with Ms. Over the Rainbow here."

“I’ll do my best,” Clarke says, more out of habit than actual sincerity. It’s been a long time since she did more than nap. “I’m sure she’ll pass out again soon.”

Clarke doesn’t let go of Lexa’s hand and doesn’t get up, but she moves for a moment as though she will. As though she’d prefer to be near both of them simultaneously. “Thank you, for finding me. And for being here for me all week, despite having an _actual_ job. I can’t imagine I’m the easiest best friend to have, but I’m glad you put up with me.”

"It is a chore," Raven sighs, so put upon that it must be artificial, "but we've gotta stick together out here. Or so they tell me. Anyway. Let me know if you need anything. I can bring booze, food, specialized restraints so that even that one can't fight her way out of bed, whatever."

Clarke can feel her eyebrows rise decidedly above her hairline. "Specialized restraints, huh? I'll have to get back to you on that..." and despite herself, several uses for such things fly through her mind at once. "But in the meantime, actually food would be great. I...may have forgotten to eat. Most of the day. Just don't let Mom catch you - you know how she is about food in here."

"I don't, actually - but I can imagine." Raven nods at Lexa. "I assume she's good?"

" _Good,"_ Lexa parrots in Trigedasleng. " _Good, good, good good good good..."_

"She's good, she says," Clarke chuckles. "Very good, sounds like. We're both alright. Thanks, Rae."

"Sure thing." Raven turns to the door with a wave, and only once she's out of sight calls back, "Make sure neither of you die!"

Clarke feels the impulse to roll her eyes, but then purses her lips - a silent acknowledgement of how that might not be such a far-fetched request.

"Hey," Clarke says gently, and waits until Lexa's eyes are once again focused on her own. "Tell me how you feel. Does anything hurt?"

" _No - nothing hurts."_ Lexa looks down at her side, undoubtedly at the wound that's hidden by the hospital gown she wears. " _Something itches. And feels..._ " She runs her fingers over the spot. " _Like ridges. Or scales! Like a snake’s_."

“They’re stitches.” Clarke adjusts her position to better face Lexa. One leg is curled up on the bed next to her and one hangs down by the side, but she’s much better able to reach and touch her this way. “They’re like pieces of thread. Well, literally pieces of thread, keeping your skin together. They only have to be there long enough for your skin to heal itself, to...knit itself back together. Then we’ll take them out.”

Lexa bunches her gown up in one hand, as if intending to pull it up for better access to the bandage around her torso. “Please,” Clarke says, a hand instantly moving to cover Lexa’s and still its movement, “don’t touch it. You’ll only hurt yourself.”

" _I have string in me,"_ Lexa answers, a little drunkenly. Clarke can't believe for a minute this is the first time Lexa's had stitches. " _That seems like it'll hurt me."_

"It won't hurt you, I promise. Nothing will hurt you, not here." Clarke rubs at her eyes, a useless effort at wiping away her exhaustion. "You trust me, don't you?"

" _I do."_ Nothing Lexa has said since waking up has been more earnest, and as she turns her eyes on Clarke, they haven't been more clear. " _Always._ "

Clarke’s expression instantly softens and she holds both Lexa’s hands, gently, in hers. “I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re safe now.” Her voice breaks a little on that last word, as if she’s surprised to hear herself say it. “As long as you’re in Arkadia, you’re safe.”

Lexa levels those same, clear eyes on her, and nods. She then tightens her grip on Clarke's hands, and gives a few tugs. " _Can you come here?"_ She looks around at these foreign surroundings - the metal walls, the beeping machines, the utter lack of widows and sky - and adds, " _Is that allowed?"_

“I doubt it,” Clarke grins, “but I don’t care.”

The bed is small and fits just one person easily, but Clarke and Lexa have never slept exactly side by side. Clarke is slow and purposeful in her movements, avoiding Lexa’s right side with the IV and adjusting the blankets on the left. It doesn’t make sense for Lexa to cuddle in against Clarke’s side, as she often does - it might hurt her stitches, and in any case would pull at the muscles in her abdomen. So Clarke curls against Lexa’s left side instead, one arm laid gently over her torso and a leg entwined with Lexa’s.

“How’s this work?” Clarke asks, even as she nuzzles into the side of Lexa’s neck. “Alright?”

" _More than alright,"_ Lexa hums, and her right hand finds Clarke's, curling into her fingers despite her IV. In another moment of clarity she adds, " _Better than I've been in eight days, apparently."_

Clarke sighs, and enjoys the press of Lexa’s pulse against her nose - a definitive sign that she’s breathing and finally, definitively alive - before answering. “You’ve been asleep. We had to make sure you stayed sleeping, so that your body could recover. Guns aren’t like swords or knives, the wounds they create are...different.” 

She inhales deeply, as surprised as she is desperately pleased that Lexa still smells like herself. Like forest and flame, and _Lexa_. “I’ll explain more later, but a bullet wound hurts your body in more ways than just the parts that it hits. We’re lucky my mother was here to help. I couldn’t have healed you on my own.”

" _You're healing me right now,"_ Lexa mutters, and tucks her face against the top of Clarke's head. She presses a kiss there and says, " _But I'm...so tired, Clarke. If I sleep now, will you be here when I wake up?"_

“I know, my love. You need rest.” Clarke kisses the underside of Lexa’s jaw before nuzzling back into her neck. “I’ll be here, the moment you wake up. I promise.”

" _Good. Good. Because I'm..._ " Lexa wiggles a little, settles in a little better beneath Clarke. A yawn lifts the whole of her torso in one big puff of air. " _Tired...again..._ "

A handful more mutterings of barely related words escape Lexa, and Clarke responds to a few before it becomes evident that Lexa is no longer there. As she grows quiet, the room does too; though work may continue outside, though her friends gather at what must be an increasingly rowdy bar, the hospital room deep in Alpha Station shields them from all of it. As Lexa's breathing grows as steady and regular as her EKG, Clarke is lulled into the first deep sleep she's had in days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd be lying if I said that loopy Lexa wasn't, like, 10% of why we wanted to write this.


	2. Holy Terror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First chapter of 2021, what's uuuuuuup!
> 
> TW: hospital setting (IVs, pain medication, stitches, etc)

Oblivion greets her for several hours until the thing that has interrupted her sleep for the last week rears its head again, and she finds herself in her room in the tower once more. Titus is there, the gun in his hand - but then Nia, and Roan - and Lexa is bleeding on the ground, and no matter how much Clarke tries to stop the black blood from spilling from the wound in her side it keeps coming, the hole keeps growing. And then the gun is in her hand, and she's the one to have pulled the trigger, she realizes as the light fades from Lexa's eyes. And then she's alone, in the cold dark with just the laughter of countless enemies around her and the gun that falls from her hand, hitting the ground with a clatter--

Clarke bolts upright, her chest tight and every breath a panicked fight. She clutches at her sternum and looks around wildly, taking in the bare metal walls of Lexa's room in the hospital wing and half expecting Roan or Nia to pop through one of them at any minute...until her eyes land on Eric, head poked through the open door with one fist raised, as though he'd just knocked on the wall adjacent. He looks just as surprised as Clarke feels to see him there, and flashes an awkward smile.

"Sorry," he says, "morning meds check."

“It’s - it’s fine,” Clarke mutters. She quickly scans Lexa, confirming for herself that her dream was just that: a dream. Lexa’s chest rises and falls methodically, her EKG beeps with a regular rhythm. Still, she can’t help but press a hand to her chest. Clarke can feel Lexa’s heartbeat through her gown, consistent and strong and pumping with blood and life. She lets out a relieved sigh before extracting herself carefully from Lexa’s side.

“Do the checks, I’ll get out of—“ and that’s when she sees the tray of food on a chair off to the side of the room.

It's definitely cold, and definitely has been sitting out for a few hours, but it's clear that Raven kept her promise. Rice and beans, mixed with some kind of spiced meat - fish, it smells like, probably fresh off the shipment from _Floukru_. It isn't warm but it also isn't inedible, which leaves her wondering just how late Raven and the others stayed up.

As she shifts around to look at it, Lexa stirs. Her brows pull together in a disturbed, even pained expression, and she mutters incomprehensibly under her breath as she does. Eric watches this carefully, then looks at Clarke.

"So last she was awake, pain management was a...?"

“I don’t think she felt much of anything, quite honestly.” Clarke pulls another chair up beside the one that’s lived next to Lexa’s bed for the last week, a makeshift table. “Maybe we dial back the sedatives by like, twenty percent. But she wasn’t feeling any pain last night. Now...” Clarke eyes Lexa as she seems to struggle awake. “Lexa? Are you alright, how do you feel?”

"Ache," she manages to slur out, not quite opening her eyes to respond. 

"She'll be reaching the end of her most recent meds around now," Eric says, checking his watch and clipboard. He moves over to her IV. "Last night's dose was a little too much?"

“She was pretty out of it. I don’t want her in pain, but I think we surpassed pain management,” Clarke admits. “Scale it back a bit. She’s strong, she can handle it,” and even as she declares this, Clarke gently brushes a few curls away from Lexa’s forehead.

"Alright," he says, and presses the requisite buttons on the IV. It beeps with each touch, but otherwise doesn't visibly change. While it's true that Clarke is not a trained doctor, the staff at Alpha have long gotten used to heeding her suggestions; she may not know how every drug in their pharmacy works, but she knows her patients. "I'll have to hang a new bag in a few hours, but she'll be good 'til then. Do you want to go take a break? Take a shower, get some air or something? I can keep an eye on her."

Lexa stirs, her limbs clearly restless from lying in bed for so long. Her eyelids flutter open as Eric adjusts the settings on various machines, and the ghost of a smile touches her lips as her green eyes meet Clarke's. " _Klark_..." she mutters sleepily - and then her eyes are closed again, followed by the steady breaths of sleep. 

Clarke places a kiss on her forehead and whispers, "I'll be back," before turning to the task at hand. She gathers up her jacket and the plate Raven had left her before Eric's suggestion hits home. "Is this you trying to not-so-subtly tell me that I smell?" she teases.

"Well - yes. It's close quarters in here, you know?" He grins. "But seriously, you've been here for hours. Days, even. She's gonna be okay."

"I know," Clarke says, the words rushing out in an exhale. 

She's had to reassure herself several, even dozens of times that that's true, and she's sure she'll have to do it again. Come rushing into the med bay late at night when she wakes from a nightmare, just to be sure Lexa is still there - still breathing. Keep her hand pressed lightly against Lexa's chest as she sleeps, just to confirm without a doubt that her heart is beating inside her chest.  
  
But she does know, or at least she's getting there. Lexa is going to be okay. For now, at least.

"I'll be back this afternoon. Let me know if anything changes, alright?"

"First thing," he assures her with a nod, already in the process of dragging the chairs she'd used back against the far wall. 

She leaves him there to stand watch and begins tabulating her to do list for the morning. Food is a definite necessity, as her rumbling stomach reminds her, and the Council would be meeting again soon. She has time to head back to her room and change, though - maybe even shower, a luxury that isn't often afforded due to the slow water recycling system Alpha is still equipped with, but Eric did suggest it…

Clarke sips at the stew-like bowl as she makes her way to her room, ignoring silverware for the moment in favor of speed. The individual rooms in Alpha are all the same and labeled only with a unique number to tell the difference between them. Many have decorated the outside of their doors since they landed on Earth, with their names or other designs to make the space feel more theirs. Clarke hasn't had time to add any personal touches, however.

The council members and higher ranking security and advisors have their rooms in a special block, made special by a singular, additional feature to each room - each of their rooms have a small window. Otherwise they're the same as any other room, and when Clarke barrels into her own it's to find the same standard furniture.

A metal bed frame, built into the side of the wall extends out into the middle of the room. Clarke's room happens to have a pipe inconveniently placed in the upper left hand corner of her bed, so there's a not insignificant gap between the head of the bed and the wall. She's lost a pillow more than once back there. 

To the right there's a small closet, also built into the metal exterior and just next to that is a footlocker for storage. Built into the wall next to the door is a screen with a keyboard that pops out at the push of a button. It used to be used for all kinds of things on the Ark, but now is mostly for communication purposes. Only the higher ranking people in this block have working ones, which includes Bellamy, Abby, Kane, and now Clarke. Raven's room is located elsewhere in Alpha, but her communicator, of course, works as well. After all, she was the one who fixed them in the first place.

The window is above the bed, only a few inches from the ceiling and spanning almost the entirety of the wall - but it's only two or so inches high, and even standing on the bed Clarke can't see much out of it. It's only real function is to provide light in the morning, for which she's often grateful. Waking up in a dark room, even when you know the sun is up, is an odd feeling. The darkness of night on Earth feels different from the darkness of space, somehow.

Clarke quickly strips her clothes and grabs a towel from the footlocker. The communal showers are located in the middle of her block, so she quickly makes her way there and takes as quick a shower as possible. Despite her haste, Clarke can't help but revel - if even just for a minute or two - in the pouring water. It reminds her of being back in Polis, of relaxing in a bath. Of Lexa, lounging in the cooling water as Clarke scrambles to find her robe...

The first time Clarke realized that she missed Polis was a surprise. The people there, of course she misses - and constantly worries about. They've had almost no word from the tower, but so far at least she knows that Ronnie and Kita are alive. She has no idea about Elena or Tera, or anyone else she met there. But she also misses her room. Having space to herself, even if she rarely used it. She misses Lexa's room more than anything; misses the quiet nights they shared there, the way they would move around each other like it was their space. Like they belonged there, together.

Clarke splashes the cold water on her face, forcing herself back into the task at hand. Just a few minutes later and she's squeaky clean, or as clean as she'll get after a six minute shower. She heads back to her room and quickly changes for the day. Jeans, her usual boots, belt, knife, and henley. She managed to find a red one in the storage locker, probably put there by her mother or her friends. It's comfortable and lightweight, but will keep her warm during the cooler parts of the day. Happy to spend as little time as is absolutely necessary in this room, Clarke grabs the bowl and spoon from Raven and finishes her meal as she heads back outside.

"Clarke - good, you're here," Kane says as she enters the Council chambers. He nods to Sinclair, who turns to a computer and pulls up a screen. "There's been updates from Polis."

"Let's start there, then," Abby agrees, and hands Clarke a paper copy of the report.

The report is accompanied with photographs, taken by scouts and spies that they've been able to embed with the help of their Grounder allies. One of them is of Roan, standing over sparring Nightbloods in the familiar training pitch at the foot of the tower, a new, black metal helm of awe on his forehead. Others are of changes to the city's flow, movement of armored people and obscured supplies that they can guess are shipments from _Azgeda_ and their allies that other intel identified beforehand. The news out from Polis then is altogether the same as it has been: _Azgeda_ is preparing, and everyone knows for what.

There are more interesting updates on their allied front, however, as Clarke is able to deliver: not only is Lexa awake and therefore out of the woods, but Helena has been making some headway with Madi. Although Ilian was and remains starkly _anti-Skaikru,_ it would seem that the chieftain he serves is less so. Madi has been heading up the calls for a new Conclave, the leader of a wing of the Coalition who do not accept that Lexa's death at any hand but his own gives Roan the right to call himself Commander. While the prospect of a new Conclave is worrisome - it would not simplify things for _Skaikru_ if a new Commander was selected, and on a personal level Clarke is terrified of what it would mean for Kita and Ronnie. But the infighting that the objection creates is reassuring in itself; it means that the whole of the Coalition isn't yet arrayed against them, and leaves them and their allies space to wedge themselves between _Azgeda_ and the others.

As discussions turn away from news and toward the more mundane, daily concerns of the city - what supplies they've been able to gather, the status of the fortifications, what weapons and defenses could theoretically be erected and maintained - Clarke pulls the picture of Roan toward her. 

Hate surges through her as she takes in his face, particularly as her eye lands on the helm of awe on his forehead. Clarke never expected to care much about the title of Commander. She's only cared about it to the extent that it belongs to Lexa, and Clarke would do anything to keep Lexa alive. Thus, Commander Lexa was simply a fact of life. But seeing him wearing the symbol of that station spreads anger through her veins like fire.

And just as quickly, anger turns to a dull ache as her thumb brushes over what she's almost positive is Ronnie's blurry face. He's sparring with two of the younger Nightbloods in the photo and she can almost imagine his smile as he adjusts their forms. There's another, taller figure that Clarke would guess is Kita, also teaching a group of smaller Nightbloods. Lexa would always be among them, teaching them by example. Roan just stands there, looking on, thinking who knows what. Likely thinking that his life would be a lot easier if the Nightbloods were simply out of the way…

"Clarke?"

She looks up to find all eyes on her. Clearly she missed something. Kane takes mercy on her by repeating: "Can you talk to Indra about getting that escort set up?"

"I...yes, of course I will." Clarke's brain searches back through its periphery to the discussion going on around her. Another supply train, this one back to _Floukru_ , that will need to get through undetected. "And I'll check in with her about the status of the Mountain's defenses while I'm at it."

Clarke pushes the photo away from her again, unable to stand looking at Roan's face a second longer. "I'm sure Jada is keeping her informed, but we should keep Helena updated on this new push for another Conclave as well. Infighting in the Coalition helps us, but we have to make sure it stays at a stalemate. Any decision before Lexa is back to her full strength won't be in our favor. Helena might have some ideas to help keep the scales from tipping one way or another."

"Best to keep all our options open," Sinclair agrees with a nod.

"Alright, then - we all know what our tasks are?" Abby looks from face to face, each nodding their understanding in response. "Good. Clarke, we'll meet later to discuss the status of the Commander. Sinclair, I'll want an update on the status of the purifier repairs this evening, as well. We'll reconvene tomorrow to draw up responses to _Trikru's_ formal alliance proposal."

The Council disbands, and Clarke heads out to hunt down Indra. The _Trikru_ chieftain had been scheduled to leave for the new TonDC settlement later that afternoon, but it wouldn't be surprising if that were postponed now that Lexa is awake. Either way, it's early enough that Clarke is able to find her at the far corner of the compound, where she and her warriors typically pitch camp when they're in town. Indra is her usual abrasive self but is quick to understand the necessity of the change in plans - though, even with her understanding, it takes some time to hash out the logistics that come with a new _Trikru_ escort. It's nearing noon by the time Clarke has reported back on Indra's response, and then she needs to track Raven down and get the communicator from her. That's easier said than done as the engineer isn't at her usual workstation today, but Clarke eventually tracks her down at a nearby garage. After then updating her on what she's learned and getting the communicator in return, she is finally free to return to Lexa's room on the medical ward.

Upon opening the door, Clarke finds a room that is still and quiet, aside from the beeping of medical devices, and for a moment she thinks with relief that Lexa must still be asleep. But then she catches sight of the look on Eric's face - of the sheer terror in his eyes - and swivels her attention to the bed. Directly across from where the doctor sits is Lexa, propped upright on her pillows and very much awake. Her green eyes are narrowed and intense, threatening even, and move away from Eric's face only long enough to verify Clarke's identity.

"Hello, Clarke," she says, and her eyes go right back to Eric's face. The doctor, despite being second in command of this hospital, is positively quailing in his chair. He glances up at Clarke.

"Clarke," he says, and the fear in his eyes is in his voice as well; it cracks around Clarke's name, and he shifts uncomfortably under Lexa's gaze. "I'm glad you're here. She, um. I tried to switch the IV a little while ago, but she - wouldn't let me."

"I merely told him that under no circumstances was he to touch me until I had had a chance to speak with you," Lexa fills in, and with the steel in her voice Clarke can hardly blame Eric for being frightened. He glances up at Clarke again.

"She threatened me," he whispers.

Clarke spares a sympathetic grimace in Eric's direction before making her way over to Lexa's side. The Commander is sitting with a rigidity to her posture that would be impressive for someone who's been bedridden for over a week, if she weren't also shaking a little from the effort. 

"Maybe now is a good time to formally introduce you two...Lexa, Eric is a doctor. He's been helping us heal you. Well, actually he and my mother have been the ones doing most of the healing." The admission sparks just a glimmer of guilt. Clarke knows it was right for Abby to take the lead on Lexa's recovery, that she's too close to Lexa to treat her. But still, the feeling that she should've been the one to fix her won't entirely go away. "I'm sorry I wasn't here when you woke up," and Clarke takes Lexa's hand. Slowly, so as not to startle her - Lexa still hasn't taken her eyes off of Eric. "My errands took longer than I expected."

"That is both unsurprising and understandable," Lexa says. She inclines her head at Eric, her intensity unwavering. "It is good to meet you, Eric."

"Uh, yep. Yep," he says, nodding his head fervently. "Good to meet you too. D'you see now? I'm one of the good guys, just here to help."

"Can never be too careful." She finally looks away from the doctor, and turns fully to Clarke. "Do you understand this thing he intends to do?"

"It's just to switch the IV bag - fluids, and more pain meds." Eric nods to a tray behind Clarke. "Clarke knows how to switch it."

"I do, yes..." Clarke watches this entire exchange with, she's almost sure, a purely serious expression on her face. But on the inside, it's proving more and more difficult not to laugh or at least crack a smile. "Why don't I do it this time, and I'll show you everything I'm doing. And then next time, you might feel better about letting Eric help."

Lexa hardly looks persuaded by this, but after a moment of weighing Clarke's suggestion, she does nod. Both she and Eric watch as Clarke puts the stop in the line, and explains step by step what she does to switch the bag out and why. Eric sticks around only long enough to confirm that it was done and done correctly, makes a note of it on his chart, and then hastily excuses himself.

Once they're alone, Lexa lets out a sigh and releases the tension in her body. She sags back against the pillows and looks at the door. "He is a strange little man," she mutters.

Clarke does finally let herself chuckle at that. "I can see why you might think so. He's a good doctor though, better than I am. He won't hurt you. He's only here to make sure you have everything you need."

"I'm sure he is," Lexa mutters. She gives Clarke's hand a squeeze and looks up at her. "Is everything alright?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing. I don't know how long you've been without medicine - or how long you were staring Eric down. How do you feel?" Clarke reaches for Lexa's side, and then pauses. "May I check your bandage? We might want to change it."

Again Lexa hesitates, her expression pained. When she nods, she does so while avoiding Clarke's eyes.

"It aches, but I can manage. I prefer it to being..." she searches for an accurate word, and unable to find one ultimately says, "Like I was yesterday."

"I thought you might feel that way." Clarke pulls a chair over to Lexa's left side and brings a small table of supplies with her. Clarke had to fight her mother for over an hour to get her to agree to let Clarke even just change Lexa's bandages. One of their more absurd fights - Clarke was clearly right. "I had Eric adjust your medicine, that won't happen again. But you have to let him change out the IV or the painkillers will start to wear off."

Clarke waits until Lexa finally turns back to look at her, not even moving to lift her gown for access to her torso yet. "Just for now, you'll be back to your usual self soon," Clarke lifts Lexa's hand gingerly and kisses her knuckles. "But there's no shame in accepting help, after what happened."

Lexa smiles a thin, wry smile. "Do you remember," she says, "back when you were recovering, and I warned you that I would be a bad patient?"

"I do," Clarke's expression darkens a bit, remembering all too well, "and I think I informed you then that I would be more than up to the task. Much as I'd prefer we didn't have to test that, the fact remains that I didn't save you from a gunshot wound only to have you ruin our efforts with your stubbornness. Now - I'm going to change your bandages, alright?"

" _Sha, fisa,"_ Lexa says resignedly.

Replacing the bandage is itself an easy enough task. Carefully pull up the old one, check the stitches, rinse them out, put a new bandage on; it's methodical work that Clarke has done some hundred times, even if a number of those were with Grounder supplies rather than _Skaikru's_. Doing so for Lexa has always been a little more complicated however, as lifting her gown does not reveal a strange body that Clarke can put some distance to but an extremely familiar one - one that she knows every inch of, every curve and bone and tattoo. Which means that Clarke is aware of every change that has beset that body; the weight that it's lost and the muscle that has softened, the bruised and burning skin that marks the area around the wound and its accompanying incision. It can be a lot to swallow, and clearly proves to be too much for Lexa; once curious eyes turn away after Clarke pushes her gown aside, and she looks paler for the effort.

Clarke finishes her work as quickly as possible, pleased to at least see that the new stitches are holding up well. No signs of infection or tearing, and no bleeding. The ointment she uses to cover the now clean wound is actually a Grounder invention, shown to them by the _Trikru_ healers her mother and Eric have been training at the Mountain. It helps to dull pain and decreases inflammation, and protects the skin against bacteria. Once that's applied, Clarke quickly wraps new bandages around Lexa's torso to keep everything in place.

"There," she says, and gets up to wash her hands at the small sanitation area in the corner of the room, "all done. We'll have to do that twice a day, at least until your stitches are out."

"And how long will that be?" Lexa asks. What might otherwise be petulant words just sound resigned in Lexa's mouth. When Clarke turns back around, a towel in her hands, it's to see that Lexa is still determinedly looking into the middle distance.

Clarke wants nothing more than to comfort Lexa, and plans to do so as soon as possible - but if she were her, Clarke would want to know everything. Everything that happened, everything that's happened since, what to expect and how long the road to recovery will be. So she puts her healer's hat on for now, and takes a seat next to Lexa as she continues to towel off her hands. "A couple weeks, I think. At least. We'll check them every day, and as soon as we can take them out we will.

"You've been in bed for a long time, your muscles need time to get back to their old strength. When you're ready, we'll start you on physical therapy. Meaning we'll make small steps toward walking on your own, then running, then... fighting." Clarke swallows hard, the word sticking and scratching in her throat like a burr. She's done her best not to think about what exactly she's healing Lexa for, but it's impossible to ignore. Not with so much now at stake. "We'll work up to it."

" _Weeks,"_ Lexa repeats, and there is agony in the word. "Just to have the stitches removed, and then weeks more before I can even walk again..."

"Bullet wounds are different than knives or swords. The bullet was lodged inside you, and tore parts of your internal organs. Not only do those have to heal, but the trauma from a bullet affects your entire body. It...it's sort of like throwing a pebble into a pond." Clarke has, she's surprised to realize, never actually seen a pebble thrown in a pond, but she's at least sure of the effect it would create. "If you thrust a sword into the center of a pond, nothing happens. Little ripples may appear around it, but it doesn't disturb the rest of the water much. But if you throw a rock into it, the ripples from that are numerous and huge, and can reach all the way to the pond's edge. That's what a bullet wound does to your body. Why it takes so long to heal."

"And in the meantime, the world moves on," Lexa says with a sigh. She closes her eyes a moment, face twisted in a pain that isn't physical. "Who knows that I am alive? What has happened since I've been out?"

So, Clarke tells her. She recounts the evening they escaped Polis, quickly but hitting all of the important points. The communicator she left under Helena's door, leaving in the middle of the night without telling anyone, Titus' disappearance. They still haven't found him, as far as Clarke or anyone that they're in contact with is aware.

Clarke explains how it took them the entire rest of the night and most of the next day to do surgery and stabilize her. "You were so strong, even then," Clarke says, and her voice cracks just a bit. "You made it through, but your body...you'd been through so much, you needed time to heal. So we put you to sleep." Explaining an induced coma proves a bit difficult, but Lexa seems to get the salient parts. She was made to stay asleep with medicine, until they decided she was well enough to wake up. In the meantime, Roan has declared himself Commander.

The last few days have been abuzz with news, but Clarke gives Lexa the gist. _Azgeda_ is clearly shoring up their defenses and gathering an army. They won't move without more allies, but it's clear what their target will be: _Skaikru_. Helena and Indra, who are both aware that Lexa survived, are heading up the opposition along with surprising support from Madi. Clarke explains the resistance to Roan's rule - leaving out, for now, the push for a new Conclave - and their plan to keep everyone fighting for as long as possible. Until Lexa is well enough to go back.

"We're trying to buy time, essentially," Clarke finally finishes. "We're increasing our defenses in the meantime, stockpiling supplies and preparing for an attack if it comes. We're working on an official alliance with _Trikru,_ and I'm sure _Floukru_ isn't far behind. But ideally, we'll be able to manipulate the tower from the inside long enough that any actual fighting never happens."

"Is that the plan, then?" Lexa asks, and looks at Clarke for the first time since she began talking. "Stall long enough for me to get stronger, until I can fight Roan?"

Clarke swallows, this time partially to combat the dryness in her mouth from speaking for so long. But still, the question hits her in the chest like a sledgehammer. "Yes, that's the plan," she whispers, as if something really had knocked the wind out of her. "I couldn't come up with anything else. I might - we might - before it's all said and done, but. Ousting Roan without causing a war...I don't know another way. Not yet, at least."

Clarke isn't sure what she expected from Lexa's response to that information. Fear, maybe, or anxiety. Resignedness, or frustration. Even anger seems appropriate - but instead of any of those things, news of this plan wipes the agony and despair from Lexa's eyes and replaces it with a fierce determination. She sets her jaw and struggles to push herself upright against her pillows.

"Alright," she says, nodding as she does. "Everything hinges on me getting stronger. So that is what I'll do."

Clarke nods, at least happy to see Lexa looking something other than morose - even if she doesn’t love why. “You will. Our priority is getting you healed and back to your normal self. Yours and mine - and Eric’s.” Clarke raises an eyebrow in a way that she hopes appears stern. “You will need to listen to him. To him and me, and my mother. We want you healed as quickly as you do, but it won’t do anyone any good if you hurt yourself or take on too much too soon.”

"I will be careful to obey my limits," Lexa promises.

Clarke raises a decidedly skeptical eyebrow at that, but doesn’t push the subject. “Good,” she says instead, and walks over to the door through which Eric usually appears and taps a few buttons on the computer screen on the wall beside it. “So for the time being, I think we could start with trying some real food. It’s very light soup, really the opposite of exciting. But I asked the guys to make you something - thought you might appreciate something other than water.”

"Clarke." The sound of her name cuts rather abruptly through the room, and she leaves off what she's doing to look at Lexa. The other woman has her fists balled tightly in the bed sheets, and her eyes are fixed on Clarke's. "Thank you. For everything. I know it could not have been easy, but...you saved my life."

“I would do anything for you,” is Clarke’s immediate and sincere response. “Saving you was easy, it was...waiting to be sure that I had. That was hard.”

It comes again, the image of Lexa, practically lifeless and bleeding out on the floor. On Clarke’s floor - in her room. Titus waiting for _her_. It should’ve been her... 

_It was supposed to be me._

It takes Clarke several seconds to realize she’s said this not only in her head, but out loud.

Lexa's face is immediately hard. "Don't say that."

“I’m sorry.” 

"I'm serious."

"I know."

Clarke finishes what she was typing - a request to Eric, that she’s sure he’ll resent but fulfill anyway - before making her way back to Lexa’s side. She props herself up on the side of Lexa’s bed, forgoing the chair for now, and takes a few long moments to consider what she wants to say. Putting it into words...she knows she doesn’t have to, not really. Lexa understands. But somehow it feels like she has to try. 

“It’s just...Lexa,” Clarke brushes a thumb over Lexa’s cheek, still very much not over feeling the warmth of her skin. The life beneath it. “I thought I’d lost you. I almost did, if I hadn’t...if you hadn’t gotten back here in time. I was so scared.”

"But I _did,_ " Lexa emphasizes. She catches Clarke's hand in both of hers, pressing it firmly between them. "I survived, and I will get stronger. I would have it no other way - and you shouldn't wish it to be either."

“I’m so fucking ecstatic that you’re alright, I barely care that you’ve probably traumatized Eric for life.” Clarke wraps her fingers around Lexa’s hands, gripping them right. “Everything I did was worth it, and I would do it again. I’d do more, if I had to. I just can’t help but think...what might’ve happened. What almost happened.”

Lexa takes Clarke's hands and presses one to either side of her face, turning her nose into one wrist and then the other. One of her own hands finds its way to Clarke's collar, catching in the fabric there while the other twists back into the bedsheets - and then, before she can stop her, Lexa shoves herself into a sitting position and kisses Clarke.

In this proximity, Clarke notices that Lexa...doesn't smell like Lexa. Gone are the soaps and long soaks in the bathtubs of Polis, replaced with dry shampoos and anti-bacterial scrubs. Her curls are wilted, her lips dry, and her skin smells like this hospital room more than the forest floor, but that kiss is the best goddamned feeling Clarke has had in nine days.

"I'm sorry I scared you," Lexa says against her lips, her forehead pressed to Clarke's. "I would take it all back if I could, but I'm here now. I'm alright, Clarke."

Clarke exhales with a sigh into Lexa, a rush of love and relief and finally, after nine days that felt like a lifetime: hope.

“You will be. I’ll make sure of it.” Clarke presses her lips against Lexa’s again, aware that she shouldn’t be sitting up like this but utterly powerless to stop. One of her arms threads around the right side of Lexa’s waist, avoiding her injury but gently supporting at least some of her weight. Clarke barely notices - she could stay here, like this, all day and night.

That extra support does at least give Lexa the chance to move her hand, and she does so eagerly; her fingers wrap around the back of Clarke's neck, threading into the soft hair there and clinging to her. 

"Is it strange," she says breathlessly after breaking away again to gulp in more air. "To feel like an age has passed, even though I remember none of it?"

"Your body does," is Clarke's immediate and, perhaps, somewhat clinical response. She wraps her other arm under Lexa's arm and around her shoulders, keeping them pressed together as much as possible even as she does the majority of the work of keeping Lexa upright. "Your mind was asleep, but your body was working," Clarke whispers against Lexa's lips. "It's muscle memory. Your muscles remember how to walk and run, even if they'll need time to grow strong enough." She kisses Lexa's mouth again, almost delicately, and breathes, "I don't see why this can't follow the same principle."

That, for the first time, pulls a non-drug induced grin to Lexa's lips. "What?" she asks. "Kissing you?"

"Well, yes. Among other things," Clarke's tongue slips between Lexa's lips, eliciting a small sigh from the other woman. "But we'll work up to those."

"I would like to remember those," Lexa groans softly, the sound half pleased and half petulant. "Sooner rather than later."

Clarke chuckles at the clear whine in Lexa's voice. "We'll work on it, my love. This is enough for now." Her grip on the back of Lexa's gown tightens and she presses their foreheads together. "More than enough."

Lexa tips her chin forward to kiss her again, but the embrace lingers only for a second before the door opens. Both women jerk away at the sound and turn - with differing degrees of suspicion - to see who it is, only to be met with Eric's grumpy face sticking through the opening.

"You wanted _what?"_ he asks of Clarke.

Clarke gives him a pleading look that she hopes looks more sincere than it feels. "I asked the guys in the kitchen to make Lexa some soup. Thought we could try something light. If you agree, would you mind bringing some of it here?"

His eyes turn to Lexa - whose eyebrow Clarke can practically feel raise - and he blows out a sigh. "Alright, just gimme a minute," he says, and disappears again.

"He is pretty easy to boss around, I'll give you that," Clarke says, but her smile turns to a frown as she looks back at Lexa. After jolting apart at Eric's appearance, she still seems pleased to be in Clarke's arms but also like she's in pain. "Lie back and relax," and Clarke pushes her gently back against the bed. "Much as I'd like to keep kissing you, we need you better."

Though their surroundings are sterile and void of natural sunlight, Clarke is used to being enclosed in metal walls. Lexa, she knows, must hate it, but there's little to be done until she's able to walk on her own. "Is there anything I can do to make this room feel less..." Clarke waves her hand to indicate the entire room, "I don't know, miserable?"

"Being able to see the sky would be a start," Lexa sighs. "But, seeing as that is likely impossible...I imagine I will grow quite bored quite quickly if I have to look at these bare walls for a week."

"Oh!" Suddenly, Clarke remembers the package from Helena that Raven mentioned yesterday. She'd completely forgotten about it, only barely registered the box sitting on her bed even while she was changing this morning. "Helena sent you something that might help with that, I'll get it for you after Eric gets back. We do have a few things in the way of entertainment around here, but not all are very...portable. Unfortunately I can't bring a screen in here to play a movie, I already checked, but we do have plenty of books. I'll bring some for you, you can choose whatever you like. We also have cards. I don't suppose card decks managed to survive the apocalypse..."

"I...am not sure," Lexa says, and there's a small grin on her lips as she reaches out to pick up Clarke's hand again. "But I would appreciate any distraction you can offer. Those all sound wonderful."

"Well, we'll show you how to play. Bellamy and Octavia love playing cards, but Raven is weirdly good at it...I'm convinced that she cheats," Clarke's smile falters a little, realizing that she has something else to share with Lexa. Something not involving card games or books. "Speaking of, actually. How do you feel about visitors? Aside from me, and Eric and my mother. I don't want you to be uncomfortable, we can wait until you have your own space, or until you can walk on your own. Whatever you need. But Indra has asked to see you, and you are technically well enough to speak with her. I told her she would have to wait until I decided you were allowed to have visitors, so I can hold her off for a little while if you'd like me to. But I thought you'd like to know."

The amusement fades rapidly from Lexa's eyes, as Clarke had suspected; for one whose entire existence has been predicated on physical prowess, being slightly weaker than a pre-pubescent child must not be an easy thing to swallow. Letting others see that can only be less so.

"If she has asked to see me, she will have good reason," Lexa says. "I may not have a throne, but I still have a duty. I'll see her. But I think..." The hand not holding Clarke's fidgets with the blanket. "I think the others..."

"There are plenty of two person card games," Clarke says, and squeezes Lexa's hand with immediate understanding. "We'll start with those. And in the meantime, let's see how you feel tomorrow. If you're up to it, I'll bring Indra to see you in the afternoon. And if not, we'll give it another day. There's no rush."

Lexa gives Clarke's hand a squeeze, gratitude for her easy understanding clear in her eyes. "Thank you."

She's able to eat about half of the soup that Eric returns with, which in reality is little more than broth and a few bites of vegetables. It isn't surprising, given that her body has subsisted on intravenous fluids since the snack they both shared in the Polis library. When she's finished Clarke takes it away, and runs up to her bedroom while she's at it; she returns with the package from Helena which, when opened, reveals a short note and a wooden cube with a number of complicated moving pieces. Lexa's eyes light up upon seeing it, and she picks it up eagerly to begin fiddling with it. Once its' many pieces are slotted into place correctly, apparently, the box will open - and the note promises a treat from Helena inside. 

When night comes, Eric returns to increase Lexa's dose of pain medicine. It's only a small increase, intended to ease the pain enough for her to sleep, but it does end up making her a little loopy before she does ultimately pass out. Clarke curls up next to her and manages to snatch a few hours of dreamless sleep before her brain supplies a gibberish-speaking Lexa to interrupt it. She'll take it over gunshots and enemies, though.

She wakes to a blearily smiling Lexa playing with her hair, her fingers clumsy from the overnight high that has yet to wear off. Clarke replaces her hair with the puzzle box, which Lexa takes to with all the determined attention of a puzzle-loving child. It occupies her so well that she hardly seems bothered by Abby appearing to change her IV and bandage, and Clarke sneaks away with promises of returning for lunch to go about her responsibilities for the morning. 

By the time she returns, loopy Lexa has given way to her typically stoic self. The soup Clarke brings with her is still hot, and she sits beside Lexa to carefully feed her, spoonful by spoonful, until Lexa turns it away. They discuss the wisdom of seeing Indra, and though Lexa determines that she is willing and able to do so, she makes it known that she would very much like some pants beforehand. As Clarke notes while checking on the status of her bandage, however, the easy access the gown provides makes it a safer option for now, an explanation Lexa - after some debate - grudgingly accepts. Clarke has Indra sent for, and when the _Trikru_ chieftain arrives she makes herself scarce.

The following day has a similar pattern, but Clarke can tell that Lexa is becoming more confident...mostly because she is becoming less obedient. Clarke comes back from her council meeting to find Lexa half out of bed, struggling to reach for one of the books that had been left on a chair that had been pushed up against the wall. She quickly puts Lexa to bed and retrieves the book.

"You know that's what that buzzer is for," she scolds her, pointing to the button hanging off the side of the bed. Where Lexa may have quietly taken that rebuke the day before, now she rolls her eyes.

"It's a _book,_ Clarke," she grumbles. "I can get my own damned book."

And from that point forward, Clarke knows that Lexa's tenure as an easy patient is over. She takes to bossing around her attendants, the nurses and assistants that quickly become just as cowed by her as Eric had been. The only one who proves resistant to the Commander's orders is Abby, who generally still commands Lexa's respect and obedience. Otherwise, Clarke finds herself called back to Lexa's room more and more often to contain the pacing panther that Lexa is quickly devolving into.

On one such occasion, a harried nurse finds Clarke outside of Alpha Station to report that Lexa has, once again, chosen to ignore her restriction to bed. Clarke returns, her patience already thin, to find Lexa sitting cross-legged at the foot of her bed, her fists on her knees and her eyes closed. The position demonstrates so brazen disregard for her bedrest order that it takes Clarke a moment to register the pajama pants poking out from under Lexa's bunched-up gown - a truly glorious pair of blue pants patterned with bright red cartoon lobsters.

The reprimand Clarke was preparing dies on her throat as a snort of laughter takes over. "Did you...did you finally bully Eric into giving you pants?"

"Bully is a strong word," Lexa says. She hasn't moved from her position since Clarke entered, and even now only opens one eye to look at her for a moment, then closes it again as she continues, "But he did manage to find a pair for me, yes."

"Clearly he got his revenge," Clarke mutters, pointedly eyeing the bright red lobsters. 

She examines the situation around and in Lexa's bed, understanding the story rather quickly. Lexa clearly attempted to stand using the table beside her bed as support, fell and upended it, and then made her way around the front of the bed somehow. And, presumably, will be unable to get up herself without ripping her stitches. Assuming she hasn't already. "I assume you haven't forgotten our continued requests that you not leave bed, right?"

"I did not go far," Lexa says, and points behind her. Clarke follows the indicated line of her IV to the IV cart, which is now halfway down the length of the bed instead of tucked neatly into the corner. The power line is still plugged into the wall, however, despite being stretched almost to its limits. "I have not removed the leash you've all saddled me with, though it would be easy enough to do so."

Clarke sighs in that dramatic, put-upon kind of way that's becoming more and more familiar these days. "It's not a leash, it gives you medicine."

Without asking, Clarke moves to Lexa's side and pulls her gown up - and now, pants down - in order to check the state of the bandage. It doesn't appear to have any blood on it, which is a good sign. "Since you haven't ripped your stitches getting down here, I may as well let you stay for now. Do you want me to give you some space to do...this? And if I do, will you promise not to get up without me?"

"It's been five days, Clarke," Lexa grumbles. "I can stand up on my own."

"Just...let me help for now, alright? I'll check your stitches when you're back in bed and if they seem healed enough, I'll let my mom know." Clarke slumps into a chair, one elbow resting heavily on the arm and her forehead pressed against her thumb and forefinger. "It's her call, when you're allowed to start physical therapy."

"She has proven to be...somewhat less cooperative than the others." Lexa doesn't move to keep Clarke in her line of sight, choosing instead to return to her meditative positioning.

Clarke rubs her temples a bit before pulling a pack of cards from her jacket pocket. It was another long night, with not one but two consecutive nightmares. Eventually she'd given up and busied herself with small chores around Arkadia, which means she's working on about four hours of sleep. Maybe five.

The table that usually sits beside Lexa's bed is closer to Clarke now, so she pulls it over until it's situated in front of her chair. The cards she brought are old and have seen hundreds, maybe thousands of shuffles, but she shuffles them against the table anyway. The pattern of patting them down against the brushed metal, flipping them all down and then shuffling them back up against her hands is familiar and meditative in its own way - though apparently not for Lexa, who after a while opens one eye again in what is clearly annoyance.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

"I'm shuffling," Clarke says without looking up - though she can practically feel Lexa's eyes narrow at the vague explanation. "It's to make sure the cards are in a random order before we play."

"Alright. But why?"

"Because we're going to play, whenever you're done with...whatever this is you're doing."

"Meditating," Lexa supplies, and closes her eyes again. She takes in an audibly deep breath, letting it lift her chest so she can roll her shoulders back and make a show of sitting up straighter.

Clarke watches this display with pursed lips. Meditation is a concept that's familiar to her, but she's never practiced. The mental and emotional benefits of the exercise is well documented, but Clarke has never been one for sitting still.

After a few moments Clarke shrugs, and goes back to shuffling - louder, this time, snapping the cards against the table and her hands as she goes. "Looks fun," she says.

"It is how I maintain my connection to the Flame," Lexa says measuredly - but it's the kind of carefulness that borders on testiness. "And I have not been able to do it for some time now. I thought it might be easier if I could sit on the ground."

"On top of being boring, you're saying meditation requires an uncomfortable surface?" Clarke shrugs, a well placed _TAP_ of the cards against the table punctuating the movement.

Clarke can practically see the vein pulsing in Lexa's temple. "I am saying it requires concentration," she answers, full-on testy now. "And _some_ atmospheres are better for that than others.”

"Well I'd hardly say you've entered a different atmosphere just by sitting on the floor." An idea comes to Clarke's mind, and maybe it's the fatigue or maybe it's the reckless spirit that seems to carry her through all decisions, but she immediately enacts it.

Octavia taught her once how to flick cards. She holds half the deck - she doesn't want to lose all the cards, what ammunition will she have left to her then? - between her thumb and middle finger, her pointer finger curled behind them. It's easy enough to aim at Lexa, who still has her eyes resolutely closed. Bend the cards back a little, and...

A fluttering noise is about all the warning Lexa has before a deluge of cards smack against her face and chest.

"Clarke!" Lexa's eyes snap open now and she turns on Clarke, irritation glaring out of them. She looks down at the cards now scattered across her lap and on the floor, and picks one up. She holds it between her and Clarke and says, " _Seriously?"_

"Did that not make my feelings very clear?" Clarke already has the rest of the deck set up between her fingers, a mischievous grin now stretched across her face. "Does this help at all?" and launches the rest of them at a spluttering Lexa.

She throws her arm up and ducks her head, as though lifting a shield against a rain of arrows. When the shower of cards is over, Lexa lifts her head to glare at her again. " _What the hell,_ Clarke?"

Clarke is already laughing and takes Lexa's distraction as an opportunity to drop from her chair and crawl over to her on the floor. "Thought you might like a taste of your own medicine. You know, since you keep complaining about ours so much."

"I hardly see how any of this is justified or appropriate," Lexa says, but her irritation is softened somewhat by Clarke's laughter. That doesn't stop her from picking up some of the cards in her lap and tossing them unceremoniously into Clarke's.

"It's _absolutely_ justified," Clarke gently, careful not to pull on Lexa's side or strain her muscles, spreads Lexa's legs from their previously folded position. Just enough that she can kneel between them. "And appropriate has never been my strong suit," and she kisses her.

Lexa emits a muffled "mph!" of surprise against Clarke's lips...but then all of the exasperation, all of the tense muscles and jagged edges, go out of her. With her back against the foot of the bed, Lexa practically melts under the kiss - and when Clarke's tongue presses forward just briefly, flicking quickly against the edge of Lexa's teeth, her face goes immediately red. When Clarke pulls back Lexa blinks slowly at her, as though that kiss alone has left her drunk.

"I should misbehave more often," she murmurs, eyes hesitating on Clarke's lips.

Clarke's breaths feel heavy and her heart pounds in her chest. It hasn't truly been that long since they've slept together, and she would never do anything to hinder Lexa's healing. But despite that, arousal is quick to flair in Clarke's stomach, heat spreading across her skin like wildfire. 

"It is sort of like I'm rewarding you, isn't it?" Clarke purrs, and nips at Lexa's lower lip, teeth pressed just enough against her skin to inspire a whimper.

"It is very much like that, yes," Lexa answers, a crooked grin turning her lips. One hand finds Clarke's stomach and twists itself in the fabric of her shirt, tugging her closer into her legs. "On the other hand, it is its own acute sort of torture. I cannot say that it is the discouraging sort."

Clarke lets Lexa pull her closer, lets their next kiss last as long as possible before they need air - and then, with an exaggerated sigh, pulls away. "I suppose you'll just have to trust that I know when you're ready. For now, have I done enough, do you think, to lure you back up here? Or should I resort to throwing more things at you?"

"I think I liked the other incentive better," Lexa mutters, but sighs. "Very well. Let's go."

Lexa remains mollified for some time after that - but the longer she's awake the stronger she becomes. In the days that follow she grudgingly makes use of the buzzer to summon nurses or enlists Clarke's help when she's around, but never does so without a passive aggressive comment to remind them that she is being obedient. That, if she had it her way, she would be up and out of this bed already - that she is capable of doing exactly that, and that she is impatient about it. Unable to spend her energy on much of anything else, Lexa seems intent to sink it all into quietly beating her caretakers over the head with her frustration, and eventually Clarke relents. With the IV stand on one side and her own shoulder on the other, she starts to help Lexa take a few trembling steps around her hospital room to preserve her own sanity. Any hope that this might quell the festering rebellion in her partner are quickly dashed, however, as the difficulty of even standing on her own two feet, let alone taking the three small steps to the foot of the bed, proves to be almost more than Lexa can overcome; she wipes away the sweat beading on her brow as if its simple presence insults her. And with that insult, her mood only sours.

One week after waking up, it becomes clear that Lexa grows tired of pulling her punches. Clarke - who has, despite her mother's feelings on the subject, inserted herself into most aspects of Lexa's care - can see the idea forming behind those green eyes while Abby draws her blood. The collection of blood samples is something Lexa has grown used to by now, no longer suspicious of the process once Clarke explained what their purpose was. She generally abides them with quiet acceptance, if not outright interest in what is happening. Not so much today. Clarke attempts to silently warn her away from the course of action she knows she is about to take, a foreboding glare angled at her from over Abby's shoulder, but Lexa meets her gaze with a defiant jut of her chin.

"It has been eight days since I regained consciousness," she announces, as though this would be news to anyone in the room. "I have been keeping careful track, despite not being able to see the sun."

"So I've heard," Abby says - mutters, really - as she pops a second vial into the butterfly needle's socket. She watches the dark, reddish blood rush into it without further comment, as though this would be enough to silence Lexa.

Still some red in her blood, Clarke notes idly. Clarke's own makeshift blood transfusion in the buggy, along with a number of others required during her surgery, have meant that Lexa's black blood has yet to fully reassert itself. But sure enough, day after day, her blood gets darker.  
  
"Eight days and four hours," Clarke mutters in turn. Lexa glances her way but is clearly focused on whatever it is she intends to convince Abby of. So much the better - it's probably for the best that Clarke isn't forced to admit that she knows the exact time because she too has been counting down the days until Lexa is able to leave the med ward.

"It was agreed that a week was the amount of time my stitches needed to heal," she prods.

"Yes, but where medicine is concerned, schedules are for entertainment purposes only." Abby doesn't lift her eyes from the vial in her hand. When it fills, she replaces it with a third one. "We can check them again tonight."

"They have _been_ checked," Lexa says, and she hardly tries to hide the frustration behind the words. "And every time they are, I am told that they are healing according to plan. I can stand and I can walk, and my wound does not open up again. I am ready to do more."

"You can barely stand, let alone walk." Despite the exasperation in Clarke's voice - between her regular duties in Arkadia and her new, increasingly frustrating job as Lexa's de facto nurse and handler, she is about as close to the end of her rope as Lexa appears to be - she genuinely is concerned about Lexa's safety. Giving her too much freedom too soon could easily result in an injury, a rare point on which she and her mother agree.

But this is, of course, a refrain that Lexa has heard several times before. Her eyes lock on Clarke's, and she grits through her teeth, "I am getting stronger."

"Not enough to be on your own," Abby answers breezily.

"Then let me train!" Lexa snaps. She squeezes the towel-wrapped dowel rod in her hand harder than necessary, and blood spurts into the vial. "Give me this - this _therapy_ I have been promised. Let me _try_ to get stronger, instead of wasting away in this bed!"

"You are not wasting away, you are healing." This Clarke intends to come out sounding patient and reassuring - a tone she's used to putting on for patients, particularly the more difficult ones. Instead it betrays her true feelings. Less casual or authoritative, more hissed through gritted teeth. She takes a deep breath and tries again. "You agreed to listen to us and follow the instructions we give you. It won't be long before you're back to swinging a sword and throwing people on the ground. You just have to be patient."

"I have not seen the sun in eight days." Lexa's words come out in gritted, forced patience. "I have _been_ patient."

Frustrating as Lexa’s attitude lately has been, Clarke is sympathetic. It would kill her to be trapped inside that long - Lexa must be in agony.

Clarke presses her lips together, eyebrows knitting in a hopeful, almost pleading expression as she locks eyes with Abby.

Abby does a quick double take, apparently surprised to find Clarke swayed. "I have already said we can look at them tonight," she says, a fair bit of exasperation in her expression now. She switches the third vial out for a fourth, a detail Clarke only dimly notes; they have typically only ever taken two or three vials from Lexa at a time, but perhaps Abby has an additional test in mind.

"You have. And tonight you will send one of your underlings, who will check the wound and report to you. And then you will come in tomorrow, and the same conversation will be had," Lexa answers testily. Her hand twitches, and for a beat Clarke thinks she's going to rip the needle right out of her arm.

She understands her mother's reluctance, even if she suspects an undue amount of non-medical influence. Once Lexa is able to leave the hospital room, it will become that much harder to keep news of her identity - and her survival - contained. Most of Arkadia knows about their mad dash to surgery with a mortally wounded person; it's hard to keep something that raucous and out of the blue quiet, especially when half of the _Skairku_ leadership were involved. But anyone who asks about the identity of the patient herself is told the same, barebones story: she's a Grounder ally, wounded during their flight from Polis and in need of specialized care. With her locked away behind doors upon doors marked MEDICAL PERSONNEL ONLY, that's enough to sate the curiosity of most. But once she's out and about, free to move around the city among the rest of _Skaikru_ and visiting delegations, people might start asking more questions. Or, worse yet, someone might recognize her - and if news of her survival gets back to the wrong people, Arkadia will be in one hell of a mess.

Clarke understands all of this. In fact she's not unconcerned about it herself - if there's anyone who would take to playacting with as much enthusiasm as a boulder, it's Lexa. She's more likely to give herself away than be found out by any overly curious civilian. But even so, they can't keep her here forever. Much longer and Lexa may actually make good on her continued threats of breaking out of the med ward, which would be a disaster in any number of ways.

"What if there were a compromise?" she asks, and is immediately met with two very skeptical expressions. Neither of which help her ability to come up with something entirely on the spot. "What if Lexa agreed to stay here for a few more days, under your supervision," Clarke can feel Lexa's eyes burning a hole into the side of her face, "but we spend a few hours of each day on physical therapy exercises. Outside," now the other side of her face, "behind Alpha, in the gated area with the water tanks."

Both sets of burning eyes turn on each other, and for a moment Abby and Lexa hold the other's gaze. Clarke begins to think they're going to stay like that, literally waiting for the other to blink for all time, when Abby makes a decision.

"I'll confer with Eric," she says, and pulls the fourth full vial from the line. She puts it on the steel table with the others before going about removing the needle and cleaning Lexa's arm.

" _She will never let me out of here,"_ Lexa growls in quiet Trigedasleng as tape is pulled from her skin. Abby looks up from her work just long enough to level a look at her that says she neither understood nor appreciated the switch in language.

"If we determine it is safe to remove the stitches, we'll do it tonight. Then we can start physical therapy tomorrow--" A sudden glint of hope electrifies Lexa's eyes, and she can't seem to help sitting up straighter-- "under _my_ supervision."

"Seems fair," Clarke pipes up before Lexa can get a word in edgewise. Playing mediator between her girlfriend and her mother is something Clarke had never anticipated doing and, as she might've predicted if she had, she is absolutely not a fan.

Lexa, who had gone from hopeful elation to prickly frustration in the span of seven syllables, now glowers at Clarke in palpable irritation. But the fire in those green eyes is a resigned one, and Clarke knows that Lexa is about to give in even before a sigh deflates her. "Very well," she says. Abby finishes wrapping gauze around the pad pressed to her inner elbow, and as she pulls away Lexa's hands twist in the bed sheets. She eyes Abby with a newly contained defiance as she agrees, "I will await your decision with bated breath."

"I'm sure you will," Abby says, and finishes wrapping up her supplies. Once they and the blood samples are piled onto her clipboard, Abby scoops up the lot of it and stands, turning to face Clarke.

"I have to get these into refrigeration," she tells her, apparently electing to let Lexa simmer the way one does an overtired child. "Eric will be in later to check the stitches, and we can talk over dinner tonight. Should I send someone to find you?"

It takes several moments to realize this isn't her mother asking in some odd way whether Clarke would like to join her for dinner - she's implying that Clarke will be part of the discussion about whether or not Lexa is ready to take further steps toward recovery.

Naturally, Clarke would have attempted to insert herself in this discussion anyway. It's unlike her to sit around on her hands letting others make decisions for her or the people she loves. Still, it's a pleasant olive branch. Surprising, but pleasant.

"Please do. I should be cataloguing inventory for the Mountain by then with Kane. I'm sure you'll be able to find me."

Abby nods, and she tucks the clipboard and its contents a little closer to her chest so she can slide by Clarke. As she does, she mutters, "Good luck," and then she's gone.

Leaving just Clarke and a seething Lexa alone in the room. They look at each other for a beat before Lexa breaks the silence.

"Do you think she'll follow through?"

Clarke slumps down onto the foot of Lexa's bed a little more roughly than intended. Lexa hardly moves though, let alone complains. Her eyes remain fixed on Clarke's, as if she suspects Clarke would lie or otherwise trick her in some way. The idea sparks feelings of sadness and anger in equal measure, but Clarke swallows them down.

"I think she will do what she thinks is best," Clarke says. It is the truth, whatever Lexa may suspect. "She's nervous. About our position, about your health. About you roaming around Arkadia once you're well enough to be left on your own."

 _"Roaming,_ " Lexa scoffs. "Well, I will not be looking to injure myself and find myself locked in here again, I assure you."

Clarke forgoes the obvious 'you are not, in fact, a prisoner, this is for your own good' speech and says instead, "I know. I understand her concern, but we can't avoid what the future brings forever."

The numerous ways in which this plan of theirs could go wrong, Clarke thinks, is her mother's main or perhaps only concern. If Lexa is discovered here or word spreads that she's alive. If _Azgeda_ attacks before Lexa is healthy enough to challenge Roan. If Lexa loses. While Clarke's mind can't decide whether to focus on the same anxiety, or the reality that every step toward recovery Lexa takes is a step toward her potential death.

And Lexa's main concern, Clarke is sure, is purely how long it will take before she can swing a sword again. She shakes her head, pinches the bridge of her nose in an attempt to refocus. She really should sleep more.

"Your stitches are ready to be removed, in my opinion." Clarke's fingers spread over Lexa's blanket, extending toward her injured side reflexively. "But it isn't my decision to make. I'll try to convince her."

Clarke senses a sudden stillness, and she looks over to find Lexa watching her warily - as though this was an unexpected turn that she doesn't yet know how to interpret. "You will?" The stillness breaks as Lexa's shoulders relax. "Thank you."

Lexa’s surprise is almost as upsetting as her skepticism was earlier. When did Lexa stop trusting her? 

“You know I’m not keeping you here for my own benefit, right?” It comes out with almost none of the harshness she intends. Instead she just sounds tired. “I take no pleasure in keeping you cooped up in here, especially when I know it makes you so unhappy. But this is far more complicated than what I want, or what you want.”

"Do you believe I have forgotten that?" Lexa's voice is not unkind, but there is a warning edge to her words. "There are many reasons that I would like to be out of this bed, but only one that demands urgency."

Clarke nods through Lexa’s words, feeling as if she could have predicted them enough to say them along with her. If she focuses on her routine and her work and helping Lexa recover, it’s almost enough to forget the purpose of it all. But reality always comes back, and no one is more insistent on pointing it out these days than Lexa herself.

“I’m doing all I can to give us time,” Clarke exhales through a sigh. “We have it, at least for now, and the point of having it is to use it. If I believed my mother were keeping you here unnecessarily I would make that clear to her. And I’ll tell her my opinion now.” Her jaw clenches as she moves her eyes up from the blankets, past Lexa’s chest and up to her eyes. “Trust me, please.”

"I do, Clarke." Lexa doesn't look away, but the answer doesn't come as easily as it used to.

Maybe Lexa can tell how much that hesitation hurts Clarke, or maybe she's too focused on getting out of this room to notice. Either way, she doesn't expand and Clarke doesn't have much more to say - itself a reality that hurts.

"I have to go take care of a few things," she leans forward to kiss Lexa's forehead before standing to gather her things. "I'll be back after dinner, alright? We can read together, if you're feeling up to it. And I'll let you know what Mom decides."

"Thank you," Lexa says, and her chin tips up instinctively to search for Clarke's lips - but Clarke notices this too late, and has already turned away. As she hustles out of the room, she vaguely hears Lexa say, in a much quieter voice: "Until then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, neither of us have ever acquired lobster-printed pajama pants on a trip to New England. Why do you ask?


	3. Giving an Inch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not as much Lexa in this chapter, folks - but some other familiar faces...
> 
> TW: Alcohol

The cool steel walls of Alpha Station are suddenly far too claustrophobic. Clarke finishes stuffing her things into her bag - her book, some pens, in with the papers and charcoal already inside - and then slings it roughly onto her shoulders, charging through the hallways all the while. Just when she feels the sickening press of a panic attack against her chest and throat, she bursts into the open air.

It's midday, and Arkadia is alive with movement. The sun is bright and the breeze that shifts the trees in the distance washes her in fresh air, and Clarke breathes in deep. She steps to the side of the door, leans against the wall, and cradles her eyes behind one hand. Tears prick at their corners and her breath comes just a little too rapidly - but she can't, not right now. She knew this would be hard, that Lexa's road to recovery would be long and difficult. They'll just have to get through it, like they have with everything else.  
  
She tallies the things to be done: she should eat something, she has to find Kane, they have to finish tabulating the goods to be sent to the Mountain, and all of that has to happen before dinner so they can make it back before sunset. And then there's dinner, and a letter from Helena, and so much yet to do before bed... But the more items she can add to her to-do list, the easier it is for Clarke to breathe. These are things that she can fix. Just one thing at a time.

When the feeling passes and she can breathe normally again, Clarke wipes once at her eyes and turns her attention to the city before her. Alpha Station is more or less in the center of the city, but even so she has a clear line of sight to the front gates - and there she sees a commotion developing. She peers at it for a moment until she realizes the guards are opening the gates, and beyond them a line of dark figures, a pair of horses, and a cart is breaking from the tree line. The procession makes its easy way across no-man's land, and on this side of the fence Clarke spots a familiar mop of jet black hair break from the front of the garage and streak across the grass to the gate.

The group moving ever closer to the city is obviously the supply train from the Mountain. It's a little earlier than Clarke anticipated, but nothing to be worried about, to be sure. So why is Monty running full tilt to meet them? Unless--

There's really only one person who could pull Monty into that fast of a sprint, and Clarke hasn't seen him since she got back. Since she left Arkadia in the first place: since she made a decision that destroyed hundreds of lives, including his girlfriend.

There's no way Jasper will be happy to see Clarke. He might be past wanting to kill her for what she did - Clarke isn't sure she would be, but it's possible - but he can't be her biggest fan. In fact, she's surprised he was on the last supply run for the Mountain or that he wants to be anywhere near the place. But as she makes her way over to meet the band of guards leading the procession, sure enough she spots him. He's sitting on top of the cart and hops down when he sees Monty. He grins as Monty practically body slams him in a hug - but the smile dissipates as his eyes find Clarke's over Monty's shoulder.

His hair is shorter now than Clarke remembers, the thick mop of boyish charm replaced with something shorter and edgier. That doesn't stop Monty from trying to bury half his face in it however - which is surely a prickly endeavor, as Jasper's clearly attempting to grow a beard as well.

After a beat Monty seems to notice the change in Jasper's body language, because he pulls away and turns to follow his eyes. When they alight on Clarke, his smile falters a bit too. But there's sympathy in his eyes, and he waves a hand to beckon her closer.

"Clarke!" He calls, "Jasper's back!"

"So I see!"

Clarke trots the rest of the way up to the caravan. Several soldiers nod at her in acknowledgement while a number of them look her up and down curiously. Not everyone recognized her when she returned, and some even seem to openly dislike the authority she wields in Arkadia. None have gotten in her face about it, though. Yet.

The urge to hug Jasper is easily set aside, particularly given that the not-smile on his face has now turned into an almost-frown. "It's nice to see you, Jasper," Clarke says genuinely.

Jasper's eyes drift from hers and linger instead on her jacket - on its foreign stitching, the rough edges and intimidating, military cut leather. Even the Henley she wears underneath can't detract from the distinctly Grounder style of the coat, and she can tell from the look in his eyes that Jasper knows it.

"I'd heard rumors you'd come back," he says, and while there's no open hostility in his voice he doesn't sound particularly glad to see her. "Gotta say, didn't really believe 'em."

"It was time." Clarke resists the urge to fidget or otherwise fiddle with her jacket. "Past time, probably. And there were...extenuating circumstances. As I'm sure you've heard." None of the soldiers with Jasper or anyone at the Mountain would've known enough of Lexa's identity to tell him who she is - or at least, they shouldn't. But it's hardly a secret that their little party had to run from Polis in the middle of the night, and the official story is that their escape was necessary due to a sudden shift in power. Certainly it's no secret who Roan is at this point, either.

"Heard about that, too." Jasper meets her eyes again, raises an eyebrow. "Made a few too many enemies?"

"Uh, not quite," Monty says, glancing rapidly between the two of them. "Maybe we can talk about it over lunch? I'm betting they didn't let you stop for snacks on the way here, J."

It's lucky that Monty pipes up when he does - it gives Clarke time to bite back several cutting remarks that come to mind. "Lunch sounds great," is what she lands on instead. "I'll meet you guys at the bar in a couple of hours. Got inventory duty this morning."

Despite feeling the need to defend herself, Clarke doesn't blame Jasper for his attitude toward her. In fact, if she were him, she'd probably already have punched herself. More than once. And it is good to see him - whatever he feels for her now, Clarke still considers him a friend.

This is all probably why she adds, "It really is good to see you."

"Yeah," Jasper says, without much emotion. His eyes don't leave Clarke's until Monty gives his arm a tug.

"We'll see you then, Clarke," he says, and leads Jasper away. Clarke hears him continue as they leave: "Come on, I want to show you the improvements I've made to the still. It occurred to me, if we could get an electric source for the heat..."

She takes a breath and casts an eye over the collection of crates now in front of her. These aren't her responsibility, but it'd be good to have an idea of what's come in on this shipment so she doesn't have to bother Bellamy about it later. Plus, it helps distract her from thinking about having yet another friend angry with her for trying her best.

With more yet to do, she doesn't linger long. She makes her way around the back of Alpha, to a depot that's been built out of a smaller, separate portion of the Ark's debris. There are a number of guards at the checkpoint inside but by now they all recognize her face. Among the shelves beyond, Kane is already scanning crate after crate with a clipboard in his hands; he gives her a warm smile in welcome before launching into their job for the day.

By the time they've finished it's early afternoon, and a good two dozen crates are marked and ready for transport. Everything from clothes and tools to potatoes and clean water will make their way back to the Mountain before that evening.

Technically, the kitchen and cafeteria are located inside one of the many pieces of the Ark they've managed to salvage. But with the sun shining and only a slightly chilly breeze, the kitchen staff have set up a makeshift buffet-style lunch outside at the bar. It's a lot like what Clarke always imagined a regular high school on Earth would be like. Except outside, among people who prefer guns to brightly colored backpacks and surrounded on all sides by a forest that by all accounts appears to want to kill them. But otherwise, it's very much the same, she imagines.

By the time she's collected a plate full of food, the temptation to flee has again reasserted itself. The nice weather has lured plenty of people outside, and when she locates Monty and Jasper it's clear they haven't yet noticed her. But, as though reading her mind, Jasper turns to look almost right at her a moment later, drawing Monty's attention in turn. The latter smiles and flags her down, a hunk of bread still in his hand. With a sigh and a half hearted smile of her own, she carries her tray over to them.

"I was starting to think you'd forgotten," Monty says as she draws close. They've obviously been here a while: both of their trays are more scraps than meals now. "Kane keep you late?"

"He's meticulous, I'll give him that. Sorry to keep you waiting." Clarke sidles into place beside Monty, careful to give Jasper his space. "What'd I miss?"

"I was just telling him - you know how _Floukru_ brought us those bottles of gin a while back?" He's already following up on his thought before Clarke can so much as nod, his eyes on Jasper to invite him into the conversation. "Well, I think I got them to bring us a recipe on how to make it in the next shipment. I don't think it takes very long to make, and it would be a lot better than this crap."

Monty holds up the mostly full tin cup in front of him and Clarke realizes, for the first time, that it doesn't contain water.

"Hey now," Jasper says, and for the first time there isn't an immediate layer of vaguely contained disdain in his words. He lifts up his cup in turn, and Clarke notes that it's nearly empty. "This 'crap' is the best idea we ever came up with, and I guarantee half of us are still alive because of it."

"That," Clarke points with her fork at the cup in Jasper's hand, "is probably true. At least half of us are definitely still enjoying life because of it."

"It does make a good antiseptic," Monty says with an innocent shrug. Both Jasper and Clarke look at him in silence for a moment before his grin breaks through, and they dissolve into laughter.

"Okay, but speaking of antiseptic," he continues, and now tosses a look at Clarke that tells her he's been holding onto this topic until she was around, "what's the situation look like at the Mountain?"

Jasper shrugs at that before tossing back the last of the contents of his cup. He doesn't look at either of them as he answers, just angles his eyes somewhere over Monty's shoulder. "It's been better. There's a lot of tension that wasn't there before - and not just between our people and the Grounders. Ever since this new guy took over--" Monty shoots an anxious look at Clarke-- "Everyone's been suspicious of everyone. There haven't been any outright confrontations yet, but...you can hear the whispers."

"Roan," Clarke supplies, "is his name. And I'm not surprised, he's done a lot more to destabilize our position than just declaring us his enemies." She rips off a piece of her own bread roll and says, very much with her mouth full, "It'd solve a lot of problems if he suddenly contracted the plague or happened to fall down a very long flight of stairs."

Jasper shrugs. "Someone else would just take his place, and we'd be in the same shit."

"Someone had his place, and it was not the same shit." Clarke sighs and her gaze drifts off toward Alpha. Toward where she knows Lexa is lying - waiting. "We were so close to joining the Coalition. To fixing all of this. And now we're back to preparing for battles that could come from any side."

"Is it really that bad?" Monty asks, looking uncertain. Even Jasper is looking at Clarke now. "I mean, we hear rumors, obviously, but..."

Clarke looks between the two of them, suddenly very aware that while she told Monty who Lexa is and what their relationship is - albeit without most of the details - he doesn't know what the ultimate plan is. That they're essentially buying Lexa time in order to heal before she fights Roan. Monty may understand that, but Jasper almost certainly will not. And he doesn't know even as much as Monty, whom she's ordered in no uncertain terms to keep these things to himself... Lying and keeping secrets really does take up a disturbing amount of her brain power these days. 

But thinking through this context does make one thing a little more clear: the look on Monty's face is both uncertain and the littlest bit pleading.

"It could be a lot worse," Clarke says with as much reassurance as she can muster into her voice. "We have _Floukru_ and _Trikru_ on our side, which protects us enough for now. Only a few clans have outright allied themselves with Roan, the rest can't decide what to do. It's just as likely they'll vote to oust him as anything." Not exactly true, but not an outright lie. "While they fight each other, we can continue to prepare and protect ourselves. It's not as bad as it could be. I'm just...frustrated. I wish I could have finished what I'd started in Polis."

"Those clans," Jasper says, "The ones that sided with Roan. Are they the Shallow Valley and Glowing Forest clans?"

"Yeah, actually," Clarke inclines her head, examines Jasper more closely. "Is that part of the rumor mill, or a lucky guess?"

"Neither. We had healers at the Mountain that were from both of those clans. They were learning medicine from some of your mom's people." He fingers the edge of his cup. "They left some time during the night. I don't think they're coming back."

That's a blow Clarke did not expect to hit quite so hard. It's easy to think of the clans as only their representatives, but in reality they're the culmination of hundreds of people. People who are just as much victims as most of the people in Arkadia. People who were invited to learn from Arkadia's healers and they swore to protect while they were at the Mountain, and they had to run away in the night. Just like Clarke and her people were forced to do. Whether the other clans realize it or not, they will all suffer from the loss of the Coalition.

Clarke sighs and runs a hand through her hair. "I'm glad they were able to get away, then. I'm impressed word reached the Mountain so quickly, though maybe I shouldn't be."

"They've been talking about nothing but," Jasper says with a shrug. Clarke takes 'they' to mean 'Grounders,' and can't help but notice the distancing effect that has. "We don't have radio communication with Polis, not like we do with Arkadia. But we aren't that far from it, either, and most of them are from _Trikru_. If they're worried about war, it's what I would've done too."

"Me too," Clarke agrees. _It's what I did do_. "Are you going back? Or are you sticking around here for a while?"

"They won't need me for a little while," Jasper says, and looks up to see Monty grinning at the prospect. "So I'll be around. I could use a break, anyway; 'specially now the weather's nice."

"Why?" Monty asks, turning his laughing eyes on Clarke. "Have we scared you off already?"

"Of course not," Clarke chuckles at the look on Monty's face. "I have plenty of lost time to make up for, I'm glad you'll both be here. But Jasper, if you are staying, there are some things I should fill you in on..."

Again, Monty's face takes on that plaintive, _please please please_ look to it that really only he could pull off so well. If it were as simple as Clarke deciding whether to tell Jasper about Lexa or not, she simply wouldn't. Not until she could get a better read on him, anyway. Assess where his head is at these days. But while Monty has apparently maintained his promise to keep silent so far, if Jasper is staying in Arkadia he will surely break his promise eventually. Better that Clarke tells him now.

"We had to escape Polis quickly," she starts off, "as I'm sure you know. Do you know why?"

Jasper shrugs. "This Roan guy apparently doesn't like us so much, so I'm guessing that. Also probably because Lexa got shot."

There's no reason for Jasper to know, or even suspect that Clarke and Lexa had any sort of personal relationship. So there's no reason to suspect that he is being intentionally cruel with so blunt a statement, even despite the cold look in his eyes as he says it.

Even so, it hits Clarke like a punch to the gut. The urge to leave and check on Lexa - to confirm that she's where Clarke left her, still breathing, still recovering, chest still rising and falling - is so sudden and so ridiculous that it takes Clarke a moment to respond.

"Yes...that's true. Both, really, but we also had to get here quickly if we wanted to save her. Which we did." Clarke pauses to confirm there's no one else within earshot. Of course there isn't, but it also gives her a moment to steal herself before saying, "She's here. Lexa. She's recovering in the med ward now."

Jasper's eyes go wide, and Monty looks at him anxiously. He looks like he's ready to jump out of his seat and halfway across the table if he has to.

"She's... _here?"_ Jasper repeats, a little bit louder than he should. Monty shushes him, drawing Jasper's attention for just a moment before it returns to Clarke and he hisses, " _She's alive?"_

"Yes," Clarke's voice is low, but adopts a decidedly stern tone nonetheless, "and that kind of reaction is why it's a secret. For now."

"A secret?" Jasper hisses again, leaning in towards Clarke so he can still be heard. Something like outrage shines behind his eyes. "What the hell is it a secret for??"

"If anyone knows she's alive, Roan will try to kill her," Monty says measuredly, still on the edge of his seat. 

"So what? This is their civil war, not ours!"

"It doesn't matter whose war it is if we're sitting in the middle of the war zone!" Clarke has leaned forward too, unnecessarily, to the point where she could probably kiss Jasper's nose. If that were at all even remotely close to what she'd like to do to him right now. "We live here now, on Earth, and we have to act like it. We need allies and hopefully, someday, with a miracle, peace. Lexa can help us get that."

He scoffs and leans back at that, breaking the stranglehold Clarke otherwise had on his gaze. "A lot must have changed since you were gone," he says. "I thought you would've hated her fucking guts, after what she did to you."

"Jasper..." Monty says, turning an apologetic eye to Clarke.

"I did. I did for a long time, but she..." Clarke sighs and closes her eyes for a few seconds. As if the darkness behind her eyelids will make this any easier to sell. "I forgave her. Eventually. And after a while, after we started working together more closely, we sort of..." there truly seem like no words to properly describe the way she feels about Lexa, and yet if she could think of them she's sure none of them would do her any good here.

Clarke cradles her chin in her hands, traces the line of her own jaw with her thumb and forefinger. Finally, coming up entirely empty, she just extends her hand palm up and shrugs. "I love her."

If Jasper had looked surprised before, he looks like she straight up slapped him now. When he doesn't respond immediately, Monty says, "She's her girlfriend, J."

That seems to kick whatever frozen part of his brain back into gear, and Jasper stands up. "I need another drink," he growls, grabs his cup, and leaves.

"Well that went well," Clarke mutters. She eyes Jasper as he walks around the side of the bar to, presumably, refill his cup. And to escape Clarke. "He really can't tell anyone, Monty. Will you..." she gestures helplessly toward the way he went.

"Yeah - yeah, I'll talk to him." He too is eying Jasper's back. "He won't tell anyone, I don't think. He's just...he hasn't been in a great place since the Mountain. I mean, none of us have been, obviously, but..."

"I know. I understand, believe me." The memory of her time alone after the Mountain doesn't carry the same feeling of heaviness as it once did, but it hasn't been tarnished by time or overwhelmed by happier memories either. Clarke remembers living in the mountains as if it were yesterday - remembers the way it felt, after everything. In a lot of ways she had it better than Jasper. She ran away from her actions, leaving him and everyone here to pick up the pieces.

"He's right to be upset with me. And he can punch me in the face for all I care, if that will help, but we can't risk anyone else knowing about Lexa." Clarke sighs and attempts to muster up a reassuring smile for Monty. "I'm sorry if all this has overshadowed you two seeing each other again. Whatever he feels for me right now, I really am glad he's back."

"I know you are! I know. And don't worry," Monty is still smiling, but there is uncertainty and doubt in his eyes. "He'll come around. I'm sure of it."

When Jasper doesn't come back, Clarke knows it's time for her to go. There's always more to attend to; correspondence comes in every other day, as fast as birds and messengers can reach them, and much of it comes to her desk first. All need to be read and noted and collated into reports for the council members, and those that have been delivered need to have the councilors' answer made known to them. And before she knows it, one of Abby's techs has come to find her just before the end of her shift. Abby and Eric are dining in the former's office, it seems, and she's been invited to join them.

The prospect of yet another meal fraught with conversation that's at worst painful and at best awkward isn't exactly appealing. It feels more like another of her duties than something she would actually like to do. But Clarke pushes that notion aside for now, tries to focus on the fact that she hasn't spent time with just her mother since before they returned from Polis. It will be nice to have time to themselves.  
  
Well, themselves and Eric.

The two of them are leaned over a small table set up in the corner of the office when Clarke walks in, and stop talking conspicuously quickly when they notice her.

"Oh - hey, Clarke," Eric says, eyes following Abby's up and over his shoulder. His chair _irrt irrt irrts_ as he scooches it and himself over, leaving room on the side of the desk closest to her. Her mom looks at her from the opposite side, a small smile flitting across her face. "We, uh, grabbed you some food, if you're hungry. We're just sitting down to eat."

Clarke raises an eyebrow but doesn’t hesitate to take the seat offered to her. “Thanks, Eric. Have I interrupted something?”

"Just the results of Lexa's blood tests," Abby answers. She shuffles the papers on the table between them into a pile and sets them off to one side; Eric takes the cue to situate the three trays of dinner in the newly cleared spot. "Her red cell count remains steady, and her nutrition is stable. All good signs."

"I'm glad to hear that." In fact, Clarke is both glad and a little anxious to hear that. Any progress Lexa makes is another step toward a reality Clarke would rather not face. "I'm sure she will be too. I worried she might not be eating enough. Unless Eric has found an easier way to get her to eat when I'm not around." 

One look at his expression confirms that Eric has, in fact, discovered nothing of the kind.

"She scares me," he mutters furtively.

"The fact remains that we have a decision to make," Abby says, leveling a look at Eric that tells Clarke she's found her girlfriend's ability to intimidate the staff particularly vexing. "About whether to begin physical therapy or not. And the Commander has made it clear she won't make it easy on us if we decide not to."

"It's not as if she's made things easy on us up until now." Clarke pulls the tray of food closer, willing herself to feel hungry. Her body needs the energy, that much is obvious, but her appetite has been less than impressive lately. "What is your assessment? How is her wound healing?"

"Cleanly and rapidly," Eric says with a shrug. "She's been up and moving around - she shouldn't have been, but she has - and the wound has stayed closed. As far as I'm concerned, we're good to go."

"Well yes, but physical therapy is different," Abby answers. "If we remove the stitches and the wound reopens, we'll have undone an awful lot of work."

"The longer we wait, the more her muscles atrophy. If we wait too long, we'll have undone a lot of work too," Eric points out. Clarke wonders if Lexa would terrorize him so much if she knew he was on her side.

"She has been moving around by herself," Clarke admits, "albeit poorly. If anything, that proves Eric's point. She'll start trying to walk on her own, with or without our permission. It may be the best thing we can do to start her on regular exercise. Regular _supervised_ exercise. She's way more likely to hurt herself or reopen her wound if she's left to her own devices."

"We've dealt with this before," Abby says dismissively, but Eric is quick to respond.

"No, we haven't," he says, and there's urgency and earnestness in his face. "Abby, this isn't a grumpy engineer who burned themselves with a torch, here. Judging by the scars she already has, this isn't the first life or death injury she's sustained - she's a trained warrior who's been exercising injuries long before we ever stopped breathing recyc. She's going to fight us if we keep her," he looks at Clarke for backup, "and we need her to trust us. If she thinks we're trying to keep her against her will, whatever trust we might have earned is going to evaporate."

"She's a particularly difficult patient, whether it's a scrape or a potentially fatal injury," Clarke's mind supplies several examples of her time in Polis alone to support this, "but Eric is right. This isn't like treating our people."

The back of Clarke's neck prickles at the idea of Eric mapping the scars on Lexa's body. Of course she knows that he's a doctor, and a professional one at that - Clarke herself is intimately familiar with the bodies of dozens of citizens of Polis at this point, not to mention her own people here in Arkadia. That doesn't stop the comment from itching at the back of her mind, though.

But it's easy enough to ignore, particularly as it becomes clear that Eric is not only on Lexa's side but his thoughts are apparently running along the same lines as Clarke's own. A welcome change, Clarke thinks. "I spent months treating patients in Polis. Even the youngest warriors were difficult to wrangle at best, and impossible at worst. Honestly, I'm surprised she hasn't hurt herself or snuck out of Alpha already. Even I can't convince her that doing nothing is the right choice, not for much longer. And to her, bedrest _is_ doing nothing." Clarke would and in fact has felt the same, despite her medical training — but she isn't about to admit that. "I think Eric makes a good point. We've asked her to trust us, and she has, but she'll expect the same in return. Sooner rather than later."

Eric sits forward earnestly, his elbows on his knees and food going cold in front of him. "I know we shouldn't let political considerations get in the way of medical expertise," he says, eyes boring into Abby's, "but we _need_ that trust. You trusted her enough to give her authority over even you just a week and a half ago. Think of this as just another way of building that relationship."

There is quiet for a beat as Abby maintains that look. Her fingers absently pick up a forgotten pen and she flips it between her fingers in a pattern Clarke knows well - so she knows that when Abby taps the top of it against the table's surface, she's found something to say. "It's that very authority that makes me hesitate," she admits. "You must have both realized it, too. The second we let her out of the medical wing is the second she becomes visible - not just to us, but to every eye in Arkadia. That includes Pike and his ilk, and that includes every Grounder that walks through those gates. People are going to start asking questions about this Grounder girl that we've taken enough interest in to save her life, and to keep her here for weeks instead of sending her home. And the more questions are asked, the faster our lie will have to multiply. We cannot get caught in it. If anyone outside of Arkadia, Grounder or otherwise, figures out who she is..."

"We can't let that happen," Clarke agrees. She finds Abby's eyes, waits until they rest on her before continuing. "I may not like where this is going, but I won't risk the alternatives. No one will learn the truth outside of the select few we allow, I'll do everything I can to make sure of it. But..." Clarke glances at Eric, as if something in his face will help resolve this problem. Because it _is_ a problem. One she's sympathetic to and equally concerned about - but one that's nonetheless unavoidable.

"We can't keep her locked away inside forever. She will get out, whether we allow her to or not. The question isn't whether we let her, but how we control it." The word _her_ nearly slips out of Clarke's lips, and she hates herself for it. "The hardest part won't be our ability to lie, but Lexa's. I think she'll be more amenable to the idea if we allow her some freedoms now. Start her on an exercise program, get her moving and outside. I know it sounds counterintuitive, but she'll be more open to maintaining a lie and listening to us if we allow her to move freely."

It doesn't escape Clarke's notice that she's entertaining - in fact, driving - a discussion about how best to manipulate the woman she loves. There's simply nothing she can do about it.

Eric looks appreciative in the moment that Clarke looks at him, but her eye quickly catches Abby's shrug a second later. "You think she won't push for more, the second we give her this?" she asks. "Give an inch, she'll take a mile. If nothing else, she's shown us she's used to getting exactly what she wants."

"But her motivations align with yours," Clarke can't quite keep the exasperation from her voice. "Or ours, whatever. She wants to get stronger as soon as possible so that she can challenge Roan, and we want the same thing!"

Clarke sighs and pushes her tray away. This conversation has made her far less hungry and far more sick to her stomach. "I understand that we need to be cautious of setbacks. Lexa doesn't always obey her limits and we'll have to check her on that, but we need her to trust us enough to keep following our advice. We are the medical authority and have to maintain that position, but Lexa is the authority on herself. We have to allow for that balance, or we risk exposing ourselves."

"And if, once she no longer has to rely on us, she decides she has authority over more than just herself?" Abby asks with a frown, and there's a sudden, new, and freezing cold thought that occurs to Clarke: whatever confidence Abby has in her council, and whatever belief she has in the democracy they've established, she is still a person in power. And a Lexa who is no longer confined to a room might be a challenge to that power.

"She is our ally in this," Eric says measuredly, taking up the space left by Clarke's sickened silence. "Like Clarke said, we want the same thing. Her cooperation is ours to lose. We have to treat her like our ally. If we treat her like a pawn, or a child--" 

"She _is_ a child," Abby says, and there's a sudden paleness in her face as she looks at Clarke. "So many of you are."

"--she's a hell of a lot more likely to do exactly what you're afraid of," Eric finishes, as though he hadn't been interrupted. "Yes, she's terrifying and opinionated, but she's not the only one who thinks she's ready for physical therapy. Her charts prove it, too."

Clarke is aware that her mother is concerned for her, but the children who come to mind are much younger than her. Younger, but far from incapable. "I don't think our definition of 'child' applies here," she says, and she hopes her mother understands the sympathy that she feels. "Or to anyone on Earth, not anymore. Lexa understands what her position is. I can't promise she won't push that boundary, but she isn't interested in taking over Arkadia or destroying what we've built. She wants to save it - all of it, us and her people. She's willing to die if it means she'll succeed. We just have to prove to her that listening to us is the best means to that end.

"If Eric is right and her charts indicate that she's healthy enough, then we have no medical reason for keeping her from physical therapy. In fact, keeping her from it only prolongs the stalling and political hoops we'll have to maintain before she's ready." Clarke pushes the folder of charts that they were looking at before she came in back toward Abby. "You're her doctor. If you think she's ready, we should let her start and spend this time discussing her physical therapy regimen and how we're going to keep her identity a secret. There's nothing to be gained by waiting."

"We can't be guided by fear," Eric adds. "If we're going to trust her at the end of this, we have to trust her now."

Abby rolls her tongue against her teeth, watching the both of them as the gears whirl behind her eyes. Ultimately she tosses the pen down on the table and withdraws both her hands to her lap. "Take the stitches out," she tells Eric, but her eyes linger on Clarke. "She will have to understand that physical therapy is predicated on her following our _exact_ directions. Anything less than that will risk all of this falling apart before it even starts."

"I'm sure you'll make that very clear yourself," Clarke grins at the idea. As difficult as playing mediator often is, there's something rather entertaining about watching her mother and Lexa interact. When she isn't the subject of their collective ire, that is. "But I'll talk to her too, make sure she understands what's expected."

"I would appreciate that." Abby heaves a heavy sigh and sits forward, unearthing an abandoned steno pad from under the files. "Since we're doing this, we should have a plan for the next few weeks."

Once the decision is made, the schedule is relatively easy to plan out. In a surprising turn of events, both Abby and Clarke agree on a more cautious regimen that limits the amount of stress on Lexa's body, while Eric argues that coddling her won't lead to results. Eventually though, they land on a plan they can all agree on with the promise of meeting again in two weeks to assess the schedule and adjust as necessary.

The issue of how best to keep Lexa's identity contained is a larger one. Clarke suggests that she and Abby meet with Indra and Kane to discuss what makes the most sense, both from their perspective and the Grounders’. Clarke would prefer they had Helena's advice as well, but the limited characters of the communicator will have to suffice. Until that meeting takes place, they agree to keep Lexa's physical therapy restricted to the largely secluded and gated off area between Alpha and the surviving water tanks. It's not as good as giving her freedom over her movements, but it's a step in the right direction. Besides, Clarke isn't certain she's ready to contend with a fully mobile Lexa.

It's late by the time they're done and even as Clarke dismisses herself from the conversation, neither Eric or her mother get up to leave with her. Instead they wave goodbye and start pouring over the charts they'd been looking at hours earlier. Clarke shakes her head, amused and annoyed in equal measure at how similar she and her mother are.

Lexa is, wonder of wonders, in bed when Clarke arrives. She sits propped up on a small pile of pillows, book in hand and blankets pulled up, as though being on her best behavior that day would give her better chances of getting the news she wanted. Sure enough, as soon as the door opens and Clarke steps through, Lexa looks up at her and lays the book down expectantly.

"Hello, Clarke," she says. For a brief moment, it feels like Clarke walked in on her lounging on the couch in her Polis room, rather than the bed in her hospital room.

The feeling of longing that follows is a palpable, overwhelming ache.

"Hey," Clarke doesn't bother grabbing a chair, just hops up onto the bed beside Lexa. "I'd ask how your day went, but I'm sure you're anxious to hear the news. My mother has agreed that you should begin physical therapy, starting tomorrow. I convinced Eric to come by in an hour or so to remove your stitches. I know it's late, but I thought you'd want them out as soon as possible."

It is quickly and abundantly clear that this isn't the answer Lexa was expecting. "Oh," she says, and for a time there's light in her eyes again. "Yes, that would be - most appreciated."

Clarke spends the next hour going over the plan with Lexa, who is so keen on the chance to be up and moving that she's all too quick to agree to the terms. She has her questions, of course, but on the whole is too pleased to protest. Clarke is sure that it won't be this easy - that Lexa will again grow frustrated with her leash in time - but for now, it feels like they are on the same side again.

When Eric arrives right on time, he doesn't kick Clarke out as he has in the past. Instead he chats amiably with the two of them, at ease in the face of Lexa's newly sunny disposition in a way he often isn't around her. He answers additional questions as he works, and before long - and with Clarke's assistance - Lexa is free of stitches. Her abdomen is bandaged again, just in case, and then Eric gives Lexa her pain medication for the night. Clarke settles in beside her on the bed, and for once they both sleep soundly without interruption from sudden disaster or dreams.

Lexa's pain relievers tend to make her sleep later than usual, and so it's no surprise when Clarke wakes before her the next morning. She spends longer than she probably should have, given the responsibilities she has for the day, lying beside Lexa and watching her chest rise and fall. But she eventually extracts herself from their cuddle and heads back to her room to prepare for the day. Her duties as go-between for _Skaikru_ and the Coalition occupy much of her morning, but she can't stop herself from making her way to the back of Alpha Station just a few hours later.

In the fenced in yard behind the station, where its water reservoir and main pump hide a stretch of overgrown grass a good five yards long, equipment filched from the fitness center has been set up. The main attraction is a pair of evenly matched bars, set shoulder-width apart and hip high; between them, Lexa holds herself up on stiff arms. Sweat drips from her temples and causes curls to stick to her forehead, an unruly mop of them tied hastily in a ponytail at the base of her neck. As Clarke watches she strains to take one ponderous, laborious step on legs that haven't seen use in over two weeks, and Eric keeps pace with her with a wheelchair just behind her knees. Abby stands to one side, her arms folded over her chest as she watches.

Clarke takes care to take the long way around the side of the reservoir until she reaches her mother, intent on keeping herself out of Lexa's vision. The last thing she needs is Lexa getting distracted and injuring herself in the process. But Clarke can see when she reaches Abby's side that Lexa is far too focused to have noticed her either way - despite the difficulty she's clearly facing, Clarke recognizes the look in her eyes. Focused, utterly undivided determination. It's comforting to see it again, after everything they've been through.

"How's it going?" she asks, quietly enough that Lexa shouldn't be able to hear her.

Abby looks at her in surprise, apparently not having heard her approach. "Slow," she says, looking her daughter up and down before returning her attention to her patient. "But steady. She's determined, I'll give her that."

Sure enough, it takes another several seconds for Lexa to force her foot forward. When she puts her weight on that leg this time, her weight shifting to the same side as her wound, something gives; she looks behind her to ensure that the wheelchair is there, and then all but collapses into it. There's pain in the knit of her eyebrows and she lets out a heavy breath, but there's the light of success in her eyes.

"She is nothing if not that," Clarke agrees. 

She can't help but follow Lexa's movements methodically, obsessively - where she might be in pain, what muscles she's favoring, even a small sign that there's something wrong. Her medical eye may not be as trained as her mother's, but she knows Lexa. Aside from exhaustion and what appears to be normal muscle pain, she looks fine. Better than fine, even: pleased.

"I'm still not persuaded she won't hurt herself," Abby mutters, then shrugs to indicate the amount of truck her concerns have. When Clarke grins a little it must catch Abby's eye, because she turns her attention to her. "I'm not so sure about you either, frankly. Are you getting enough rest, Clarke?"

"Of course she--" Clarke cuts herself off when she realizes she'd been automatically responding as if the question were about Lexa. "I get enough," she amends, and avoids her mother's eyes in favor of watching Lexa attempt to convince Eric of something with increasingly aggressive hand gestures. No doubt to let her try again. "My sleep schedule isn't exactly a priority at the moment."

"Clarke," Abby says with a sigh, and turns physically to face her. Clarke's eyes are dragged back to her mother's without her permission. "You haven't given yourself a moment to breathe since you've gotten back, and you've been through so much. We need you--" She stops herself, a sudden well of emotion twisting the corner of her lips. She uncrosses her arms and takes Clarke's shoulders in her hands. " _I_ need you. I can't have you breaking down on me.”

"Mom, I'm fine." Clarke straightens her shoulders reflexively, as if this somehow proves her point. "I appreciate what you're saying, but I can't sleep in or relax. Not when everything I do could mean the difference between more time and Roan's army marching to our doorstep." Her eyes can't help but glance back toward Lexa, the thought of her alone enough to pull her gaze. "Not when she needs me. Lexa is our only chance at stopping a war."

"And _you_ are our only chance at buying her that time," Abby answers, and blinks rapidly. "As...insane as that is, and as much as I wish it weren't true, you are the best chance we have of maintaining neutrality with the Coalition right now. No one knows them better. But that's all the more reason to take care of yourself, Clarke." She squeezes her daughter's shoulders. "You're worrying me."

A dismissal comes easily to Clarke's lips - there are literally countless reasons she should be up and moving and productive for as long as possible every day - but she swallows it when she sees the tears threatening at the corners of her mother's eyes. She's spent so long in Polis, so long fending for herself or at best with only Lexa by her side, that somehow Clarke forgot that the people she's trying to save care for her as much as she does for them. Well, some of them do - and she owes it to them to keep herself together. Or at the very least, to keep up that appearance for their sakes.

"I'm sorry, Mom." Clarke reaches up to her own shoulder and wraps her hand around one of her Abby's. "I've just been so busy, I forget that my body needs attention as much as everything else. I didn't mean to worry you."

"That sounds as politic an answer as ever you've given me," Abby says, but she's wearing a small grin. "I'm not asking you to drop everything, obviously, but. Just remember - you aren't doing this alone. Okay? Not anymore."

Before Clarke can respond, she catches Lexa's eye over Abby's shoulder. Sitting back in the wheelchair, she's finally noticed Clarke's presence - and wears a satisfied, if tired, smile.

"I know." In fact, she's the least alone she's been in a long time. In years, really. Even in light of all this shittiness, that's a comforting thought. "Thanks, Mom. Despite all the talking in circles, I guess there's something to be said about sharing the burden of decision. Not much, but something."

Lexa maneuvers the wheelchair out from between the railings and, with hands on either wheel, she pushes herself across the grass towards them. The exertion seems no less difficult for her than taking a step had been - her arms are undoubtedly weak as well, and the motion of pushing would require the use of her abs - but she shoves herself forward before Eric can so much as get his hands on the wheelchair's handles.

"Clarke," she greets as she draws close. Abby steps to one side to make room for her, and the former nods to her with a slightly cooler - but far more friendly than yesterday - "Abigail."

Clarke crouches down on the balls of her feet, bringing herself more or less level with Lexa. "Looks like you're already making progress," she says, and kisses Lexa on the cheek. The fact that sweat rolls down either side of her face hardly even registers. "How are you feeling?"

"Exhausted," Lexa admits, a pleased glint in her eyes. "But feeling much better."

"We're trying to focus on rebuilding arm strength and endurance right now," Abby explains, and motions at a set of hand weights that are off to one side. "Walking will take much more work, but if she can push herself around she'll be much more mobile."

"Yes," Lexa hums with just a slightly sardonic edge, "much more mobile between here and my hospital bed."

"One step at a time," Clarke says firmly. "Literally, in this case. Your muscles remember what to do even if they're not quite as good at it anymore." Clarke moves her hand over Lexa's thigh and squeezes gently. "You'll be running laps around here in no time."

"I can hardly wait," Lexa answers with a breathless grin.

"Ten minute break," Abby tells her, and gives Clarke's shoulder a final squeeze before moving to reconvene with Eric. "Then we do another set."

A water bottle sits abandoned near Alpha's exterior wall, and Lexa rolls over to it with Clarke in tow. It's clear she doesn't have a good handle on the chair - figuring out how to turn it around to face the reservoir proves to be a bit too much, and Clarke ends up doing it for her - but frustration hasn't set in yet. Clarke sits in the grass beside her with her back to the bulkhead and listens as Lexa recounts the events of the morning so far. She does so in more detail than Clarke really needs, she thinks, but the intricacy seems important to Lexa and so she listens anyway. Clouds cast the whole of Arkadia in dull grey light, but the energy in Lexa's voice warms Clarke like the sun. Part of her had worried that the good mood born of the stitches' removal and the promise of being outside would evaporate as soon as Lexa realized her body wasn't going to respond the way she wanted it to, but if anything it seems to have solidified. Lexa is accustomed to hard work, and physical exertion has been a mental balm for at least as long as Clarke has known her. Being able to do _something_ has improved her outlook markedly, and that at least is something Clarke can sympathize with.


	4. Heda in Arkadia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Alcohol

As the week progresses, Lexa's strength begins to return and Abby's wariness begins to recede. With rehab tiring her out and fresh air to calm her, Lexa has returned to being a model patient; with no further outbursts or outright rebellion, Abby agrees that there's little reason to keep her confined to her hospital bed. 

"But this is still an unfamiliar place," Abby warns Clarke. "Best to take it slow."

So Clarke begins by giving Lexa guided tours of Alpha Station. She rolls along behind Clarke, fully able to wheel herself now with the strength of her arms and shoulders, and drinks in the unfamiliar scenery like a sponge. Though Clarke can practically hear the gears turning in Lexa's head, the questions she asks are measured and insightful, covering everything from the electric strip lighting to the science behind the hydroponics station that Monty and his crew have since gotten up and running. Finally, Abby gives the okay: with her wound healing nicely and her newfound mobility, Lexa no longer needs to even sleep in the hospital room.

It's such a relief to be together again in their own space that at first, Clarke hardly notices Lexa’s increased restlessness. They move into her room and though it's somewhat cramped, it's cozy. Clarke finds a collection of mismatched clothes in the storage area that fit Lexa and clears out half of the footlocker for her. Lexa even steals a particular black hoodie of Clarke's enough that she eventually decides to give it to her. Not that she had much choice in the matter.

Everything seems to be going smoothly. Lexa is physically more distant than usual, but Clarke doesn't press it. They're together for meals and sleep together every night. Clarke spends her days with the council, working with her mother in the med ward, or otherwise performing whatever tasks assigned to her. Between work and Lexa, she collects supplies from Raven and Bellamy - and a few things that she technically didn't ask permission for - to complete her newest passion project. It isn't the same as mapping out an entirely new city, but it occupies her mind and gives her an excuse to be alone.

The whole routine almost feels normal - aside from Lexa's increasing resemblance to a caged panther as the days wear on. The more mobile she becomes, the more clearly frustrated she is at being unable to leave. After a week, she graduates from the wheelchair to crutches, and after another five days is nearly able to walk with just one supporting her injured side. The improvements motivate her to work harder, but when at the end of the day she still hasn't received Abby's approval to go outside, her mood darkens. Two weeks after she's taken her first step and an hour after Clarke returns to their room to find everything she owns in chaos because Lexa "needed to reorganize," Clarke marches to her mother's office and refuses to leave until she gets permission for Lexa to roam outside of Alpha.

Which is how Clarke finds herself standing in the doorway of her bedroom, tossing a shirt at a still sleeping Lexa with one hand and holding a crutch in the other.

"Congratulations, you have officially driven me insane," Clarke declares to a blinking, still half-asleep Lexa. "I'm kicking you out, let's go."

Sleep doesn't fade from Lexa's eyes so much as it morphs into something that looks a lot more like irritation. "Excuse me?" she asks, indignantly yanking the shirt off of her head before pushing herself up on one elbow.

"We've all had it, you win." Clarke tries to keep her voice exasperated but can't help a grin from splitting across her face. "We'd all be eternally grateful if you gave us a break and took a walk outside."

"Believe me, Clarke," Lexa snaps, her movements sharp and jerky as she shoves herself up and stuffs her arms into the shirt's sleeves. She tugs it clumsily over her head as she continues, "I would _love_ to take a walk outside, but I--"

Lexa stops with her head only halfway through the shirt's collar, her arms and shoulders freezing as she blinks at Clarke over the fabric gathered on the bridge of her nose. Then the irritation goes out of her, and she very slowly pulls the shirt the rest of the way down her bare torso. "...I'm not allowed outside."

The grin is fully conspicuous now. "You are now. You've bullied us all into submission. Now get dressed - carefully, please," she adds at the look in Lexa's eyes: like she's going to leap to her feet and throw herself out the door. "My mother will take this permission away way more quickly than she gave it."

"I would like to see her try," Lexa mutters, but the rebellious sentiment is drowned out by the childlike excitement written across her face. She does as she's told, sitting on the edge of the bed to carefully pull on the pair of jeans - _jeans_ \- that Clarke had managed to locate for her, and cinch the slightly-too-big waist to her hips with a canvas belt. Clarke retrieves the preferred black hoodie for her as she pulls on her boots - the only article of clothing still usable after their flight from Polis - and then they're off. Lexa is slower than she otherwise would be, but she knows the corridors around Clarke's room well by now; she moves as quickly as Clarke has ever seen her move with her crutch, and it's all Clarke can do to keep up.

Amusingly, Lexa hesitates at the last turn, clearly unsure where the actual front door is. Clarke takes her free hand and guides her toward a giant metal archway with an ominously unlit EXIT sign above it. One well placed shove later and they're out in the open air. A buggie is parked right outside and Raven looks up from the driver's seat when she hears the door creak open.

"Lexa, meet Arkadia," Clarke declares dramatically. And then, only slightly less dramatically, "And Raven, our volunteer chauffeur."

 _"Volunteer_ is a strong word," Raven says. She eyes them from beneath a shiny pair of aviator sunglasses - and it takes Clarke a second to realize they're the same dusty old pair she found at the junk shop in Polis. "Hiya, Lex."

Clarke feels Lexa stiffen at the awful familiarity of that nickname, but she is otherwise too occupied to respond. Though she's been outside in the lot behind the Alpha, she has yet to see real daylight - and the last time she saw Arkadia, she was on the other side of the fence with her army. 

After a ten second beat, Raven gives a short blast of the truck's horn, causing both Clarke and Lexa to jump. Clarke didn't even know they _had_ horns. "C'mon, we're burning daylight."

"I didn't ask her to come, to be clear," Clarke explains as she ushers Lexa forward. "I am totally capable of driving, but Raven insisted on doing it herself."

The front seat is only big enough for two - a driver and one passenger. Clarke gestures for Lexa to sit beside Raven and helps maneuver her into position as she continues, "You'll be able to see better if you're up front." She reaches over and pulls the seatbelt around Lexa's torso, snapping it into place, and gives Lexa a quick kiss on the lips. "I'll be right behind you."

What she doesn't mention is that even the thought of Lexa being in the back of one of these buggies again is enough to send a spike of adrenaline singing beneath her skin. Luckily, Lexa's condition eliminates any argument.

Clarke catches a glimpse of Lexa's eyes in the side view mirror as she settles in and sees a flash of apprehension there. Her jaw is set tight, eyes moving quickly left and right at the city extending before them. 

"Keep your hands and arms inside the vehicle at all times," Raven quips, and throws the buggie into gear. Clarke can see the expression on Lexa's face change from apprehension to steely readiness as she finds handholds in the cabin - and not a second too late, as Raven steps on the gas and the car peels out.

Raven does some work to moderate her speed, as the land encompassed by Arkadia's fence isn't exactly a race track, but after the initial jerk into motion Lexa appears unperturbed by the slightly-too-fast journey. The engineer weaves their buggie around the city, such that it is; there are no planned streets here, no careful avenues radiating outwards from the city's center like so many spokes of a giant wheel. Arkadia feels much more like smaller Grounder settlements than Polis in that way, with land being utilized as the need for it arises. Most of their day to day needs are still housed in the remains of Alpha Station, Clarke explains as Raven takes them in a circle around it, including the tucked away portion in the back where she brought Lexa to practice walking. What food they've been producing is courtesy of the hydroponics system they have been able to scavenge from the remains of Farm Station and pieces salvaged from the Mountain (whose own hydroponics system is gradually producing food as well), and is now housed on a few floors of Alpha. The water used there and across Arkadia is pumped in and purified by the Ark's modified water recycling system, and Clarke points out the main pump and its network of pipes as they pass it on the outskirts of the city. Lexa asks questions about the technology involved in such work, and where Clarke's knowledge fails Raven steps in. A whole eight minutes pass when Lexa's curiosity about the city's electrified fencing gives way to Raven explaining the ingenuity of the design that was her first pet project, back when Arkadia was still Camp Jaha. In that time, the two women interact without need of Clarke as a buffer - and that brings no small amount of warmth to Clarke's heart.

Their ride takes them past the firing range, where there is - Clarke was certain to check - no practice scheduled. Instead of the sound of gunshots, they pass by Lincoln hammering away at a makeshift training dummy, and for that moment Lexa's attention can be caught by nothing else. It isn't until they skirt around the city's solar panel grid that it is recaptured, as Raven explains the panels' acquisition of power via analogy to plants' use of the sun to grow. Then there's the guard barracks, the new residential buildings currently under construction, and the few dozen tents and shacks cobbled together by those who preferred not to live in Alpha Station. The smokehouse, larder, and kitchen complex is busy with fire and the smells of food preparation for the coming evening meal, and the makeshift bar is, at this point, mostly empty. They end their tour by passing by the workshops of various makers on their way back to the garage, where parts are machined, tools are built and repaired, animal parts are tanned and prepared for reuse, and all other manner of products necessary to sustaining life in Arkadia are made.

Raven hops out of the buggie practically as it's stopping, a movement so practiced that she somehow manages to whip both legs out of the driver's side door and land on her unbraced leg before Clarke can blink, while Clarke gently extracts Lexa from her seat. She assumed that after the tour Lexa would want to spend time processing all she'd seen - presumably someplace quiet and alone. But the second Clarke retrieves Lexa's crutch from the back, Raven returns with what appears to be a small, half finished...robot? It doesn't have limbs, but it doesn't look like part of a machine. Clarke is so baffled that it takes her a moment to realize she's been left behind. Lexa follows Raven around the shop like an attentive puppy, only interrupting now and again with a pertinent question.

It's adorable, really. Clarke leans against the side of the buggie, content to let the two of them bond. It also gives her some time to consider whether her own project is ready. She still needs a few things, but nothing so essential that she couldn't show her efforts to Lexa. And now that Lexa can walk on her own, it's time she unveiled it - which naturally means that she's now filled with doubt about whether or not this was a good idea in the first place.

She isn't left to stew on that uncertainty for long. Raven emerges from the garage a moment later with a serious expression, a blank-faced Lexa on her heels, and the not-robot in her hands replaced by the familiar shape of the two-way communicator.

"Clarke," she says, and presses the device into Clarke's hands. Clarke only catches the tail end of the scrolling message and has to wait for it to restart, but what she sees already has her heart kicked into high gear. Her eyes flash up to Raven's. "Helena's coming."

"I see that." Clarke reads the message again, this time in its entirety. There's a drawn out explanation for her visit, citing exchanging of sensitive information in person, strategy discussions to be held to discuss their next few moves, as well as other things. But Clarke knows Helena and it's easy enough to read between the lines. Helena wants to be here, to cement her position of authority in this alliance and be sure her voice is heard - and she wants to see Lexa.

"Says she'll be here by the end of the week," Clarke reads aloud. She can practically feel Lexa's energy hovering just next to her shoulder and passes the communicator over to her with a smile. "I have a feeling her reason for coming is more than just politics."

" _Please,_ Clarke - she and I are hardly at that stage yet," Raven says, and both Clarke's and Lexa's eyes lift to land on her. There's a beat of stiff silence before Raven rolls her eyes. "I'm kidding."

"First of all, I clearly meant for Lexa and second," Clarke points an accusing finger at her best friend, "gross."

"Indeed," Lexa mutters.

Raven rolls her eyes a second time. "Prudes."

"So I'm keeping this?" Clarke says, and though her voice inflects up at the end it isn't a question. She's backing up towards Alpha even as she holds up the communicator in indication. 

"Yeah, yeah," Raven waves a dismissive hand. She walks over to the buggie as Lexa turns to follow Clarke. "Just remember to charge it. I've been hiding it in my underwear drawer so it hasn't gotten much sunlight."

"Super gross," Clarke sing-songs back into the garage, even as she walks out the door. "Thanks for the tour, Ray - and don't worry, I'll try to get it back before you get too lonely."

"Please do, or you'll hear about it!"

"I would rather not hear about it," Lexa mutters once Raven is out of earshot. She makes little sounds of exertion each time the crutches press under her arms, but her voice is steady as she asks, "Has Helena been here since I've been out?"

"No, we've only been able to talk through the communicator," Clarke tries to keep the fact that she's watching Lexa's movements carefully inconspicuous, but 'careful' and 'inconspicuous' prove to be fairly incongruous. "In fact, I'm surprised she's coming now. Not because I can't think of several good reasons for her to do so, but it's certainly a risk."

"She has been in a Polis ruled by _Azgeda_ for weeks," Lexa says quietly, and her brow furrows. "She would be safer in the woods than in the wolves' den."

"Roan wouldn't do anything to hurt her," Clarke says, and is proud of how confident she sounds. "He's a raging asshole but so far he seems to want to win over your Coalition, not break it. Openly attacking other clans would hurt his chances of uniting them against us."

"Until he manages to secure their loyalty some other way," Lexa agrees with a nod. "Let us hope Leif and Jada can continue to make that difficult."

The following days are consumed with preparations - preparations of a much happier nature than those that Arkadia has seen of late. Clarke tells her mother of Helena's request right away, and Abby immediately calls a meeting of the Council. When they agree to receive the _Floukru_ delegation and set a date for their arrival, Clarke fires a rapid response back:

_Everyone informed of your visit. Our scouts will escort you when you enter Trikru territory and we'll be waiting for you when you arrive. Stay safe on the road. We can't wait to see you._

A reply comes a few hours later: _Tell you-know-who I'll see her soon._

Word spreads quickly after that. Arkadia is regularly host to a handful of their _Trikru_ allies, and ever since Lexa's initial agreement with Abby there have been occasional supply deliveries from _Floukru_ or _Yujleda_ \- but this is the first time a Grounder chieftain other than Indra has visited. Helena will be traveling with a group larger than Arkadia is accustomed to, and so additional space is cleared for their tents and their horses. Then, when Indra is told about _Floukru's_ arrival, she decides to attend as well. Meals are planned, rooms are prepared, and all the while a nondescript Grounder girl wanders around the city on a crutch.

Clarke and her mother devised a cover story for Lexa, one that was reported to any who took notice of this unfamiliar woman and asked: she was an assistant to Clarke during her time in Polis, and was caught in the crossfire when the Commander was assassinated. Refusing to lose someone she had grown attached to, Clarke brought her back to Arkadia when they fled the city and she has been recovering ever since. It's a story that Clarke rehearses with Lexa several times before she feels even remotely comfortable letting the former Commander wander about without her - but she takes some solace in knowing that her injury will limit her mobility. More often than not, she finds Lexa lingering around the garage or the workshop, observing the work being done there and drinking in the increasingly sunny days.

When Lexa isn't outside, she's focused on physical therapy. Keenly focused, in fact. She does almost nothing else in the days leading up to Helena's arrival, and Clarke understands why. Lexa wants to be able to walk and stand on her own, meet Helena and Indra carried by her own strength. Even so, part of Clarke can't help but feel like there's a distance between the two of them. A distance that is slowly widening. 

She ignores the feeling the best way she knows how: by working. There's no end to the work that needs to be done, and there's even more now that Arkadia is preparing for Helena's arrival. Not to mention Lexa is now mobile enough to walk unassisted and on her own, at least as far as Raven's garage. That means her little side project is about ready to be unveiled - which also means she has to actually finish it.

When the day arrives, all of Arkadia trembles with anticipation. The _Skaikru_ scouts radio in to confirm they've met the _Floukru_ delegation at the edge of Polis' territory, and within hours the sentries at the gate spot them moving between the trees. By the time Helena is visible at the center of the train, a crowd of curious Sky People have gathered - workers with their tools still in hand, children hovering between the adults, and Raven trying to look totally casual and not at all fidgety beside Bellamy, Octavia, and Lincoln. Abby and the rest of the Council stand at the fore of all this just beyond the gate, with Clarke at her side. As the train of Grounders reaches the fence, Helena's warriors break to either side to allow her to enter the city first; a swell of warmth fills Clarke to see the twist of familiar curls spilling over a muted blue traveling cloak.

Two standard bearers carrying the bright blue flag of _Floukru_ flank their chief as she comes to a halt several feet from where Abby stands, and for a moment there is a tense silence. _Skaikru_ adults warily eye the weapons that hang on the belts of Helena's warriors, while children's eyes fix, enraptured, on the foreign armor and paint that clothes their bodies. The Grounders watch them in turn, eyes flicking between their stone faced chieftain and the gathered Sky People...and then, as though amused with herself, Helena cracks a smile.

The tension in the air melts away as, without a word and without so much as a glance at the Council, Helena sweeps forward and catches Clarke in a tight hug. _"Hiya, Klark_."

"Helena," Clarke breathes, not even bothering to hide the relief in her voice. She hugs Helena close for several long seconds before reluctantly letting her go. "It's incredibly good to see you."

The heady scent of her perfume lingers in Clarke's nose as she takes in that brilliant smile. "I could say the same about you," Helena says, and tugs off a riding glove to cup one of Clarke's cheeks. There's a small shift in the crowd, beneath notice for all everything else that's happening, but Helena's eyes flick over. Raven has folded her arms over her chest somewhat petulantly, and Helena throws her a quick little wink. Of course she would have clocked Raven as soon as she came in. "You've been taking care of yourself, I trust."

"I've been taking care of quite a lot of things," Clarke can feel her mother's eyes on her and adds, "including myself. Some of my duties and patients are a bit more...complex, than usual, but nothing I can't handle."

"I'll bet," Helena hums. At last she seems to remember for the first time that everyone else is there. She turns to the rest of the council and nods. "Abigail, Marcus. Good to see you both again."

"And to see you as well, _Floukru,"_ Abby nods in return. "Thank you for making the journey."

"Please," Helena says dismissively, and she tugs her other riding glove off. "I would've done anything to get out of that stuffy city for a while. Speaking of - we've brought some gifts with us, if you would have them. Some that can be imbibed. Perhaps we could partake of some before business begins? I am rather tuckered out from the ride."

"Of course! Of course." Abby is quick to step aside and wave her towards Alpha Station, like a flustered host who's forgotten her guest's needs. "This way. Marcus, can you show her people where they can set up camp?"

"Certainly," he says with a warm smile, and moves to speak with the leader of her guard in halting - but comprehensible - Trigedasleng.

Clarke waits for her mother to take the lead and falls in line beside Helena. "Drinking already?" she keeps her voice low enough that only Helena can hear. "Seems early even for you."

"If you had the week that I had, you would be too," Helena mutters in return. Her smile is gone now, and without its light to blind her Clarke can see the shadows under her eyes. "Where is she?"

Clarke thinks of her own experience of the last seven days. The last month, even. "Fair enough." She waits until she's absolutely certain that no one is close enough to hear, to the point where they're nearly on top of Alpha, before continuing, "She's in our room, probably stalking around like an overgrown cat and generally destroying the place. I told her I would bring her to you, tonight after the political theatrics are done with, but patience isn't her strong suit these days."

"Mm." That draws a smirk to Helena's lips. She gives Clarke a side eye. "I don't envy you."

They make their way to the council chambers, everyone they pass pausing to ogle at this strangely dressed woman and the armored guards who follow her. Food has already been laid out when they arrive, and one of the _Floukru_ warriors adds a chest she's been carrying to the pile. Inside is a small keg of ale, a bottle of whiskey, and several packs of treats. 

Abby honors Helena's request to put off business for a time, and so they all trade in pleasantries instead. Helena removes her traveling cloak and hands it to one of her bodyguards, revealing a soft dress and riding pants of a similar hue. Gold glitters at her wrists and in her ears, and at either hip, her sword and dagger hang from her belt. 

Though it's her first time meeting the rest of the council, Helena is hardly intimidated. In fact, she seems perfectly at ease, and in the span of an hour has every member eating from the palm of her hand. Clarke had forgotten how quickly Helena's charm can work on the uninitiated, and marvels as even Captain Pike is forced to set aside his mistrust of Grounders to give her a smile.

When it's time at last to turn to business, Helena delivers a report in frank, pragmatic language: Polis is a city divided. Most of the clan leaders have remained at the tower, and all of them are scrambling to figure out what happens without Lexa.

Indra is not set to arrive until the following morning, at which point the council and both chiefs will be locked in a dark room in Alpha for who knows how long, discussing news and next steps. Even so, Abby and Kane can’t help but probe Helena for more information - and soon everyone has at least ten things to ask. 

By the time the council has exhausted their questions, it’s well into the afternoon. Clarke bites back the urge to ask about her friends specifically. Lief and Jada, Tera and Elena - and especially Ronnie and Kita. She’ll have time enough to ask Helena more personal questions later, when officials like Pike aren’t around to hold her “love for Grounders” against her.

As the conversation winds down, Clarke politely suggests they give Helena a tour of the city before allowing her to rest before dinner. The Council happily agrees that Helena should be introduced to their city - even Pike nods his approval at the idea. “Excellent,” Clarke declares, and stands to open the door for Helena. “I’ve got the perfect tour guide for you.”

Raven is waiting outside of Alpha like they'd planned this. Well, Clarke had tentatively planned it. She suspected Raven would be lingering outside, waiting for Helena to be free of her duties.  
  
Clarke's best friend pushes away from the outer wall as they step outside, a look of wary hopefulness on her face. The expression reminds Clarke of the second time Raven and Helena met, as though the former isn't quite sure where she stands with the latter. But of course, the moment Helena lays eyes on her again she smiles.

Helena looks expectantly at Clarke but she shakes her head and says, loud enough for the gathered warriors and council to hear, “Raven is more than capable of illustrating the finer points of Arkadia on her own. You’ll be in good hands.” Clarke squeezes Helena’s shoulder and whispers, “Dinner is in a few hours.” Clarke winks. “More than enough time to get lost in them.”

"I've always said the best way to get to know a place is to get lost in it," Helena hums in return. When her eyes meet Raven's, the other woman fails to even remotely contain her smile. "Thank you, Clarke."

As the group splits off - Helena's entourage in one direction, her and Raven in the other - Raven makes a show of "introducing" herself to Helena. She grins widely at Clarke when their eyes meet, and then just like that pretty much everyone has forgotten Clarke was even there.

Not having anything to immediately see to and no one demanding her time or attention is off putting at first - and then amazing. Clarke immediately imagines collapsing into her bed. When’s the last time she took a nap? Or even slept for more than a few hours at a time? With Lexa wrapped around her, feeling like there’s nothing but the two of them and their bed in the whole world...

The thought inspires a dejected sigh. There’s no conceivable way that Lexa isn’t creating a trench along the side of their room with her pacing at this very minute. She’ll be anxious to hear everything that happened, and anxious to get out of Alpha. Which she can’t do without Clarke.

Another sigh. Sleep will have to wait, as usual.

Sure enough, opening the door of her bedroom reveals a Lexa that's pacing across the space between the bed and the footlocker. She has excused the habit of late by calling it a physical therapy exercise, but Clarke can see the furrow in her brow. Lexa stops short when she sees her.

"Clarke!" she says, and there's a conflicting mix of relief and anxiety in her voice. The thin t-shirt she wears is darkened in places by sweat, betraying the effort pacing has cost her. "They're here?"

“Helena is,” Clarke confirms. She pivots around Lexa and falls onto the bed with enough force that she has to catch herself before bouncing off. “I sent her off with Raven for a bit,” she uses her left foot to wedge the boot off her right foot and leans down to untie the other. “You should see the way those two look at each other, it’s...actually really cute.”

"It is still a strange thing to me," Lexa says with a frown. She watches Clarke kick off her second boot before asking, "But how is she? Did they have trouble leaving the city? What news does she bring?"

“She seems alright. Tired, and I think she has more to tell us than what she’s said to the council, but alright. Her usual self. It’s a lot of the same old news, but,” Clarke cuts herself off with a yawn that overpowers her ability to stifle it. “But we won’t be making any decisions until Indra is here tomorrow,” she finishes. “Have you been pacing around here all day? You look as tired as I feel.”

"I have been trying to read," Lexa admits, and gestures to the book sitting on the nightstand. "But I have found my attention wandering more often than not."

“I’m sorry you’re cooped up in here. I couldn’t think of any better solution - anyone in their delegations could so easily recognize you.” Clarke leans back against the wall behind her bed and closes her eyes. The darkness at least helps to calm the headache that’s been slowly building in intensity since yesterday. “We should go outside, get some fresh air. Take a walk.” She opens her eyes to find Lexa’s. “Back behind Alpha, but it’s something at least.”

Months ago, Clarke's stomach would flip at the smallest of quirks on Lexa's lips, the rare half-tilt of a smile that even the Commander couldn't hold back. She'd grown used to it in the intervening time, with Lexa and not the Commander becoming her norm - so when that same, small half smile appears now, her tripping heart is accompanied by an old ache.

"You look like you could barely stand up," Lexa says, "And I am afraid I cannot carry us both."

“I’ll rally, I just need a minute,” Clarke grumbles. “It’s not fair for you to be stuck in here all day. I’ll just bring a book to read and you can continue the endless pacing along the fence.” A small smile tilts Clarke’s lips up to mirror Lexa’s as a thought occurs to her. “You’re like a dog, the way they used to be. Needing to go out and be exercised several times a day or they destroy the place. And I like my room the way it is, undestroyed, thank you very much.”

"I did reorganize your footlocker again," Lexa admits, helpfully.

Clarke looks over at the footlocker in question and laughs when she sees the way it’s organized this time. Color coded, apparently. 

“Come on, puppy, let’s go,” Clarke exhales as she stands and frowns at her boots. What are the odds she steps on something and contracts an incurable disease? High, probably. But when was the last time she felt grass on her bare feet? Has she ever felt it? 

She grabs the book from the nightstand and shoos Lexa toward the door, decision made. “Before I change my mind, come on.”

" _Sha, fisa,"_ Lexa answers, but the grump that has come to accompany that phrase doesn't quite land this time. 

Lexa pulls on the black hoodie as they go, and Clarke has her pull the hood up over her head in case any of Helena's people happen to be around. Her boots are distinctly Grounder, but there isn't much they can do about that; Clarke decides it's about time to raid Arkadia's stores for some clothes that might actually fit Lexa. 

When they reach the yard behind Alpha, Lexa breathes so deeply it's almost comical. It isn't a particularly cloudy day today, and Clarke can see her almost itching to take off at a run - not unlike Ronnie, when those bright mornings would break through the winter gloom. 

"There is something so rejuvenating about the sun after a long winter," Lexa hums.

Clarke looks up at the sky and focuses on the warmth that spreads over her cheeks as the sun hits them. "I wouldn't know," she thinks aloud. "I hadn't ever experienced a winter before this one. But it does make me feel sort of...content, maybe is the right word." 

The grass and soft ground tickle the bottom of her feet and squelch between her toes. Clarke wiggles them, tangling more grass between them and makes a pleased _hmmm_ sound. "I think this is my favorite part. Who knew walking around without shoes could be so incredible?"

"Most of us who live here," Lexa answers, but there's a chuckle in her voice as she turns to look at Clarke. "There seems to be something to remind me that you fell from the sky every second I am here. Light that does not require flame, things that sing to you as they work, entire structures made out of a metal I have never seen...but it is so easy to forget what that means. The simple things you have never experienced." A beat as Lexa considers this. "Have you been swimming?"

"Well it's not like you can just walk around a metal spaceship with no shoe--" Clarke stops, realizes Lexa has asked her a question. "Swimming? No, never. I'd never even been in a bathtub before living in Polis. The river next to the city is the largest body of water I've ever seen." A movie they had on the Ark comes to mind, one of the few they'd circulate regularly. A story about a man whose airplane crashes, stranding him on an island in the middle of the ocean. Clarke shudders at the thought. "I can't even imagine something like an ocean."

Another beat of silence as Lexa pulls one arm over her torso, giving her shoulders a stretch. "Perhaps one day we can remedy that," she says quietly.

Swimming...Clarke has never even considered it. Her heart leaps at the idea, both in excitement and no small amount of apprehension. "But I don't even know how to swim. I would just...sink." There it is: fear, sharp and cutting. "Doesn't sound great."

"You wouldn't sink," Lexa chuckles, and switches arms. "I would help you learn, obviously."

Clarke tries to ignore the growing unease at even the prospect of that and focus on a far more enticing detail - the fact that swimming notoriously involves a lack of clothes. "I guess that doesn't sound too terrible. But where exactly are these lessons going to take place? In the river, in front of the whole city? That would be quite the spectacle."

"A fair point," Lexa grins. "No, perhaps not. It would be far better to manufacture a reason to visit _Floukru_. Helena would relish another opportunity to show off."

"A city that floats..." Clarke muses. The very idea is so anathema to anything she's experienced that she can't even picture it. "I would love to see that, someday."

"Then it's decided. When all of this is over, we'll visit Helena." 

As if this being over didn't require being on the other side of a fight to the death. As if there weren't any chance that Lexa wouldn't be there after. As if any of this were that easy.

Though it doesn't seep into her words, it's clear from the look on Lexa's face that she knows it isn't.

"When all of this is over," Clarke agrees, and forces a smile onto her face. "Now until then, go get some air. Don't wander too far."

Lexa nods and makes her way to the fence's perimeter. Clarke picks a particularly green looking spot and lies down on the grass, book in hand. She gets about two pages in before her exhaustion and the warmth of the sun get the better of her - the book slips from her fingers and sleep overtakes her.

At first it feels like she must have only dozed off for a few minutes, but as Clarke focuses on the sky she can see that the sun has decidedly moved. That, and the fact that Lexa has clearly taken back her book and is seated with her legs folded directly beside Clarke.

"Good morning," she chirps without looking up. As Clarke's eyes focus, she flips a page. "Sleep well?"

Clarke blinks a few times, willing her brain out of the fog of sleep. "Waking up in strange places to you reading is becoming a theme," she mutters, her voice hoarse from lack of use.

"In an ideal world, you would have woken up to me throwing weights around," Lexa answers and, now satisfied with her progress, closes the book with her finger as a bookmark. "But I fear that is a bit too much for me at the moment."

"You'll be throwing more than weights around soon enough," Clarke reassures her - though her own stomach turns at the thought. "Let's get back inside. It's later than I expected and I still have to change."

The dinner Arkadia has prepared for _Floukru's_ arrival is nowhere near the sort of spectacle Clarke experienced in Polis when visiting dignitaries arrived, but that doesn't mean she shouldn't look her best. The boots she's been wearing for nearly a year, recently patched up and reinforced by one of the craftspeople in the workshops, go back on her feet. Faded black jeans is about the most dressed up she can get from the waist down, but she recently stumbled on a button down shirt in the storage area. Despite having a men's cut appearance, it's clearly made for a woman. Cream-colored and loose enough that it can easily contain her breasts, Clarke throws it around her shoulders and buttons it up quickly. Her jacket, the only physical reminder she has left of her time in Polis, slips over it easily. The outfit isn't exactly armor or a slinky dress, but it feels right and it'll do.

"I've asked the guys to bring you some dinner," Clarke runs a brush through her thick hair and sighs in predictable disappointment when it doesn't cooperate. "I know it's miserable being stuck in here, but I'll come and get you as soon as it's over." She turns and finds Lexa sitting on the bed, watching her. "I promise."

She's pulled her own dark hair over one shoulder, the strap she's been using to tie it back now lying abandoned on the bed next to her. Her eyes follow the line of buttons down Clarke's shirt, appreciative...but also a little sad.

"Thank you," is all she says when her eyes focus on Clarke's. "I will be on my best behavior here."

The look on Lexa's face pulls at something in Clarke's heart. She kneels down in front of where Lexa sits and puts her hands on Lexa's knees. "This will be over soon. All this hiding and secrecy, it's only temporary." That reality hurts so much that for a moment Clarke feels as though her lungs have forgotten how to breathe.

Lexa smiles a sad, small smile, and lifts a hand to touch Clarke's hair. It's a small gesture, but it's more affection than Clarke has received all day. "I know," she says quietly. "I became a little too used to its absence, is all. Go enjoy yourself, I'll be here."

Several replies flit across Clarke's mind, but none of them make their way past her lips. There's nothing to say, not really. Lexa is right - they were so close to escaping the need for secrecy, and now here they are again.

Clarke holds Lexa's face gently in her hands and kisses her forehead. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

And then she leaves, blinking away threatening tears as she makes her way through the halls of Alpha.

The dinner preparations are well under way when she finally makes her way to the staging area. There isn't a room inside Alpha that could comfortably contain this many people, but thankfully it's summer and warm out and therefore acceptable to eat outside. Long, wooden tables, some more impressively put together than others, are strewn all across the main lawn just outside of the bar. The bar itself has been converted into a makeshift kitchen with stations for various foods set up all around. Buffet style was always the norm for meals on the Ark and _Skaikru_ clearly has no intention of deviating. At the very least it all looks relatively appetizing.

On the far side, a group of workers who have come off their shift stand at the edge of the party. Grounders in armor and road leathers populate many of the tables, and a handful of _Skaikru_ \- led valiantly by Kane - have attempted to bridge the gap between them. This group standing at the edge however, hardly looks interested in mingling. Clarke sees one of them, dressed in security fatigues, curl a lip in disgust before they turn en masse and leave.

Not all of Arkadia is excited to be sharing their space, then. Clarke had anticipated some butting heads - there always were some sore spots when prickly Grounder warriors come together with distrusting Sky People - but there had never been a flare up big enough to cause real problems. Hopefully being kicked out of their drinking spot for the night wouldn't be the last straw to incite one.

Helena is seated close to the bar, at a table no one could describe as the "head table." Nevertheless, she is there with Abby and a few of the older members of _Skaikru,_ including the school teacher of all people. Raven has apparently found reason to stick by her as well, and sits at Helena's side with Bellamy. Octavia and Lincoln are next, playing some kind of knife game with a few _Floukru_ warriors and Miller and Monroe at a table closer to Clarke. Overall the atmosphere seems to have skipped "ceremony" and went straight to "after party."

Clarke is more than amenable to the surprising change of pace. She makes her way over to her friends and takes a seat across from Helena and beside her mother. "Well this is cozy," she declares. Bellamy happens to be on her opposite side and a mug sits in front of him. Clarke takes a guess and swipes it from him before he can react - yes, ale. After weeks of moonshine, nothing has ever tasted so good.

"Dude!" He whines, a heavy emphasis on the 'u.'

"Indeed," Abby mutters sourly, looking from him to Raven, who predictably has the whole of Helena's attention at the moment. "Turns out, it's difficult to talk shop when not everyone you need to talk to is here."

"Well, perhaps we should give up and save shop talk for the morning." Clarke gestures across the table at Helena with her stolen mug. "You should see this woman drink. Helena could give Pike a run for his money."

"That sounds like a recipe for disaster," Abby mutters, lifting her own cup. As it touches her lips though, they crack into a smile. "Could you imagine?"

It's been so long that she's seen her mother actually smile, much less make a joke, Clarke can't help the grin that spreads across her face in response. "Not until I saw it. Have you tried the ale yet?"

"Kane had some when we were in Polis," Abby answers. Before she takes a drink from her cup, she renders her verdict: "It was...bubbly."

Clarke laughs and dodges out of the way of Bellamy's grasping paw. The fact that she's able to do so at all speaks to how long he's been drinking. She turns her shoulder toward him and downs the entire cup before he can do any more than yelp in annoyance.

"I'll get you more, relax!" Clarke glances around the table, catching Octavia and Helena's eyes at least. "Anyone else need more?"

"You could have just gotten some for yourself," he grumbles and nudges Clarke with a shoulder.

" _Boys don't get to drink!"_ Helena laughs in Trigedasleng. That draws Octavia's attention from further down.

" _Girls rule, boys drool,"_ she calls down, and lifts her mug towards Helena's.

" _Hey!"_ Lincoln objects, but everyone else looks decidedly baffled.

“Yeah Octavia, be nice - men have their uses,” Clarke chides in English and throws a teasing smirk at her mother. “Right, Mom?”

Abby blanches, her eyes moving rapidly between Clarke and Octavia. "Wha--? I -- Clarke--"

"Men might have a use," Helena pipes up, and winks at Clarke, "but women have five."

Abby takes a slow breath before picking up her cup and standing. "Right. So I believe there was talk of refills?"

“Yeah,” Clarke chuckles. “Lead the way.” She holds her hand out for Abby to take the lead and throws Helena a wink before following behind.

They wander over to the far side of where the food is set up to a row of casks. “Sorry, about that,” Clarke says, sheepishness creeping into her voice as she refills Bellamy’s cup and fills a new one for herself. “I’m so used to talking with them, it just slipped out.” She holds out a hand for Abby’s cup. “What were you drinking?”

"Do you know," Abby says, ignoring Clarke's question as though she'd never spoken. With hands on the bar she turns to look at her daughter. "Lexa - a woman younger than her - nearly massacred us all on this very spot a few months ago. At that point," she looks over her shoulder, "I never imagined I would be sitting at a state dinner, hearing innuendos from her partners."

“I’m going to guess wine.” Clarke avoids the comment for a few moments by busying herself with filling a cup from a separate, smaller barrel. Enough time to gather her thoughts, at least. “For what it’s worth,” the cup fills slowly with red liquid, “Lexa would agree with you. She’d find this whole thing entirely undignified. She’d be amused though, and maybe even a little entertained,” Clarke chuckles, surprisingly wetly, at the memory of Lexa drinking with her and Helena in her room.

Dressed in her Commander regalia, lounging across her couch. Looking exasperated but amused at the two of them trading jokes and insults at the other’s expense. “But she would never let on how much fun she’s having. That would be unbecoming of a politician, of a Commander.” Clarke holds the cup out to her mother. “You two are more alike than you think.”

Abby looks between the cup and Clarke with an appraising eye. Then she seems to make a decision, and takes the cup. "I will be very excited to have her back," she says, and takes a sip of the wine. She winces immediately, shuddering back from the wine. "Ooooh, that's sweet!"

There have been very few times in the past year that Clarke has really, truly laughed. Of course she’s laughed genuinely, even spontaneously - being with Lexa and knowing Helena have taken care of that - but it’s been forever since someone she’s known her whole life has pulled a genuine, Original Clarke laugh from her.

“Seriously? You were drinking moonshine, even with all of these options?!”

"Of course I was! I've been drinking moonshine since I was six--eighteen!!" Abby answers, correcting herself far too slowly for her daughter not to catch on. From the embarrassed tilt to her smile, she knows it. "It's all I've ever had!"

Clarke laughs again and shakes her head. She takes back the cup and downs it before washing it out and filling it again, this time with Monty’s moonshine. “I’m impressed. My mom, the secret badass,” Clarke hands the newly filled cup back and her lips quirk up in a small, genuine smile. “Impressed, but not surprised.”

"There is nothing 'badass,'" Abby puts air quotes around the word before accepting the cup, "About underage drinking, Clarke." She looks at her a moment before putting her arm around Clarke's shoulders and pulling her tight against her side. Rubbing her upper arm with her hand, she says, "If anything, _you_ are the badass. And I am so proud of you - my little girl."

Clarke rolls her eyes dramatically and mumbles, “Not that little.” But her smile is still solidly in place. 

It could be the two drinks she’s just downed, with no dinner to speak of, or it could be the rare moment of sincerity with her mother. Probably a mix, she thinks. Either way, her heart feels warm in a way it hasn’t in several weeks. “I think the badassery may be genetic,” Clarke quips, and in a moment of predictable recklessness fills a tray with several shots of moonshine. “Bet those genetics will outlast Helena’s. Care to test it out with me?”

"No." Abby shakes her head and pulls back, putting up both her hands. But her smile remains intact. "Absolutely not."

“Oh come on, one shot. Just to see the look on Helena’s face when she realizes it’s not ‘sweet’ or ‘bubbly,’” Clarke mimics the air quotes. “You can’t tell me you wouldn’t enjoy that.”

Abby considers this a moment before saying, "Fine. Just to see!"

Clarke returns to a table that's just as raucous as before, Abby in tow. Bellamy is yelling at his sister as Octavia stabs the point of a knife into the table between her splayed fingers, but both look up as Clarke approaches.

"Hey!" Bellamy crows, "Where's my ale?"

“Right here, you blowhard,” Clarke shoves a mug into his hands and rolls her eyes. “Relax. Plus, I brought shots.” She shoves the tray into the middle of the table. “Thought we might show the chief of _Floukru_ what _Skaikru_ warriors drink.”

Helena's attention is quickly caught by that, and she snorts. "You could hardly handle whiskey when first I met you," she says, eyes on Clarke. "What do _Skaikru_ warriors drink?"

“Oh please, as if you remember the night we drank an entire bottle any better than I do.” Clarke holds a shot up and offers it out to Helena. “We call it moonshine.”

"Moon shine?" Helena repeats, taking the cup from Clarke and peering at its contents. She looks over Clarke's shoulder at Abby, and Clarke sees an anticipatory grin cross Bellamy's and Raven's faces almost simultaneously. "Is that because of," and she points up at the sky.

Clarke smiles and opens her mouth to tell her no, but reconsiders. “Actually...” she considers the moon for a moment. It’s huge on this summer evening, hardly a cloud in sight, but it’s nothing compared to the view from the Ark. “It’s a word leftover from Earth, before we left. But it’s appropriate, don’t you think?”

She passes around the rest of the shots, throws a grin in Lincoln’s direction even as he shakes his head in mild disapproval, and raises her own toward Helena. “To new friends, and old ones.”

Helena lifts hers and gives it a curious sniff before shrugging. "Here here!" She says with the others, and then takes the shot.

Half the shot is back on the table in half a second, as the _Floukru_ chief sputters and chokes. "By the Flame," she coughs as Raven laughs and rubs her back. "You people _drink_ this stuff?? No wonder you set Indra's warriors on fire, you just had to breathe on them over a candle!"

Curious eyes from other tables have now turned towards the commotion, many of them _Floukru_ warriors to see what the fuss is about. As they do, Abby steps forward and claims one of the shots. Meeting and holding Helena's eye, she takes it in one and puts the cup back on the table with a definitive _click_. With nary a flinch or tear she swallows and says, " _Oso laik Skaikru. An oso nou fir wamplai in."_

Those warriors who are near enough to hear thump their cups on the table and let out a roar of approval, but Abby hardly waits to hear it. As she turns and heads back to Alpha, Helena watches her retreat with a halfway to gobsmacked expression. She looks to Clarke. 

"That was...what's the word?" She looks to Raven. "Hot?"

Clarke watches her mother walk away with eyebrows up to her hairline and no small amount of pride. Badass, indeed. 

And then her brain catches up to Helena's comment. "Okay, ew." Clarke makes a show of fake-vomiting in her mouth. "Can we please never call my mother _hot_ again?" Her friends laugh and Helena just shrugs, that characteristic seemingly-innocent-but-anything-but smile on her face.

The hours pass quickly. It's been a long time since Clarke has really let herself enjoy being with the people she loves. War looming, constant cultural clashing, and a wounded Commander to heal aside, it feels somehow like the days her friends visited Polis. Before Roan showed up and everything went south, that is. It's a comforting feeling - the only thing missing is Lexa.

Clarke forces herself to eat at least half a plate of food between drinks, conscious that even with her high tolerance food will be necessary if she wants to continue functioning in the morning. The sun has set for over an hour when most people begin to disperse. Bellamy swaggers away with, of all people, a _Floukru_ warrior who he is more hanging on the arm of than the other way around. Octavia and Lincoln left sometime between rounds five and seven, and Raven and Helena seem less and less inclined to hide their feelings for one another. Clarke grabs one last hunk of bread and makes a show of saying goodnight with a pointed expression directed at Helena. The chieftain nods and begins ushering her retinue back to their line of tents as Clarke jogs off with a mouthful of bread to collect Lexa.

She finds the Commander shirtless when she returns, a fact that stops her short for a beat while her brain catches up. It's become a regular part of Lexa's evenings to ice her side before bed, and Clarke recognizes through her haze that this is indeed what she's doing: with her t-shirt gone and just her bandeau and pants on, Lexa lies so the weight of a cold compress keeps it on her side without her having to hold it. With her head propped up on pillows, she's in the midst of fiddling with the puzzle box Helena sent her weeks ago - though that is discarded the second the door opens.

"Clarke," she says, and sits up just a little too fast. She winces as her abs flex and the compress falls off. "Have the festivities finished?"

"Yes..." Whether because it's been some time since they last slept together or Clarke's inebriated state - or a combination of the two - Clarke's mind supplies several scenarios in which Lexa's muscles heavily feature. Several scenarios that involve a lot less clothes.

"Um, sorry, yes," Clarke physically shakes her head and takes a breath. Time to focus. "We might want to give Helena a bit of a head start, but we should be able to leave once you're dressed."

"Good." Lexa promptly pushes herself to standing and moves to collect her shirt. Her eyes move up and down Clarke as she does. "I take it Helena bought the gift of libations with her?"

"Ah, yes." Clarke feels her cheeks heat beneath Lexa's scrutiny. "Guilty."

"Mm." Lexa attempts a stern look as she turns away to pull her shirt on over her head, but Clarke can see the edge of a smile poking through. "I do hope there will still be friendly relations between _Floukru_ and _Skaikru_ by the time I am whole again. Drunken parties notwithstanding."

"If anything I think they're in danger of being too friendly..." Clarke mutters, Helena's voice once again ringing in her head declaring that her mother is hot. Louder, she says, "Honestly it seems like nothing quite brings people together like too much alcohol. Has been my experience since landing here, anyway."

"Too much alcohol starts fights," Lexa quips, and pulls her hooded sweatshirt on next. With one hand she gathers her hair, and with the other she carefully situates it into the back of the hoodie's neck. When she pulls the hood up, all of the curls disappear. "But a good toast can be the start of something beautiful."

For a moment, Clarke is back in the ruins of that underground station, standing across from Lexa for the first time as equals and allies. Back with Kane standing next to her at that long table, with Gustus beside Lexa. There was something almost like warmth in Lexa's eyes when she proposed the toast. They buried Finn that day. Raven nearly died that day. Gustus nearly succeeded in scuttling their alliance before it even began, a crime that forced the very woman he sought to protect to sentence him to death. The woman standing across from her now, almost a year later, in a stolen hoodie and bare feet.

"I don't know, some fights turn out alright," Clarke hands Lexa her boots, a small smile curling her lips as she remembers a day spent together in Polis. Reading, learning Trigedasleng. Getting into a bar fight. "But I'm sure you're right. Would you say you're a good toast giver? I have some doubts about my own abilities, I usually just start drinking."

"Toasts are all about grand words and gestures," Lexa says, and her grin widens with a touch of self deprecation. She bends to put the boots on as she finishes: "I would say they're fairly in my wheelhouse."

With a fond grin of her own, Clarke would have to agree. "At least you know you're a drama queen," she ribs, and they both turn for the door.


	5. On the Edge of a Knife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few hours late today, folks - apologies!

The city is abuzz with lingering bodies, revelers not quite finished with their drinks or nightshift workers off to their tasks moving through Arkadia's not-quite streets. No one seems to think anything of the black-clad, hooded figure trailing Clarke as they skirt the now mostly deserted bar; only Jasper's eyes hesitate a moment too long on the chin jutting from beneath the hood, but Monty's brief hello to Clarke doesn't give him enough time to identify the owner. They make it to the line of _Floukru_ tents otherwise unnoticed.

They wait in the dark at the outskirts of the campsite, Lexa's hands tucked into the pouch pocket at the front of her sweatshirt to mask the way she's been clenching and unclenching her fingers, Clarke thinks. This is by far the riskiest part of their journey - but after a few minutes of waiting, the small group of _Floukru_ warriors that hung about the front of the camp meander further in. That leaves the way all but clear for them to pick their way over to Helena's tent, marked by _Floukru_ banners and by far the largest of the temporary structures. It's also the only tent with a guard in front of it, but he must have been made aware of their visit; he eyes Lexa suspiciously but makes no move to stop them.

When Clarke ducks into the tent, she finds a setup fairly reminiscent of a tent once erected outside of Arkadia's fence. Helena's has the same rough dimensions of Lexa's war tent, minus the driftwood throne. Helena's seat of station is more bench than throne, a simple wooden thing with no back and no cushion, making for a perhaps intentionally uncomfortable seat. It sits before a canvas sheet that divides the front of the tent from the sleeping area, and the space that was left open for supplicants to approach Lexa's throne is instead populated by more seats in Helena's. The woman herself sits draped over one side of a couch, her elbow propped on the arm so one hand disappears into her curls while the other balances a cup on her thigh. Raven sits on the opposite side of the couch, her leg brace leaning against the other arm rest. A gulf of several inches separates them, but both women are angled such that their knees brush together, and when Clarke enters Helena's ocean blue eyes are all but fixated on Raven's brown.

The movement of the tent flap is enough to draw them up short, however, and for a second Helena just tips her head at Clarke and smiles her warm, welcoming smile. But then she seems to remember what Clarke's presence must mean, and all at once she stands with an expression that mixes fear, worry, and anticipation. Behind Clarke, Lexa pushes through the tent flap and the air in the room stills as her eyes meet Helena's. No one moves, no one even breathes... And then Helena is rushing across the space between them, tears openly falling from her eyes. 

"Lexa," she gasps, and crashes into the other woman like a wave against a cliff face. Her arms close around Lexa and Lexa's close around her in return, and for a moment they hold each other as though the other might be torn away at any moment. Over Helena's shoulder, Clarke can see Lexa's face twist as tears begin to run from her eyes, too.

A tidal wave of feeling envelopes Clarke's chest at the sight. It looks the way Clarke felt when her mother finally, _finally_ confirmed that the surgery was a success. That Lexa would survive. It's so intimate that Clarke isn't sure exactly what to do with herself; in a perfect world she wouldn't even be present, but her presence itself is Lexa's excuse to be here. She moves away from the two embracing women and makes her way over to where Raven is still sitting, looking if possible even more unsure of what to do with herself than Clarke is.

"Sorry to interrupt," Clarke whispers, and props herself up on the arm of the couch closest to Raven.

"Pfft. Don't be," Raven mutters back, and pushes herself up a little to sit up straight. The new position puts her knee well out of the range of Clarke's. "She's tried to brush it off, but she's been twitchy about this all night. Maybe now she'll actually chill the hell out."

"I heard that," Helena says, and that draws a single, broken laugh from Lexa. The older woman pulls away and tugs the hood off Lexa's head, using the same hand to then pull her hair out of her collar.

"You aren't wearing your braids," Helena notes, weaving dark waves through her fingers. Lexa's eyes meet Clarke's over Helena's shoulder, and she quickly looks away.

"They have not exactly been a priority," Lexa says, and Clarke thinks she might be the only one in the room to know that Lexa is hedging. "Can we...? I am sorry, but my side..."

"Oh! Yes, of course, I'm - here," Helena steps back and ushers Lexa to a second couch, so she sits opposite Clarke. Helena collects cups for the both of them before taking the seat beside Lexa. "I'm not thinking - do you need anything? Water? Or--?"

"Let me get it," Clarke suggests, and holds her hands out for the empty cups. "I'm going to make the executive decision that we need water."

"Probably wise," Raven mutters.

Helena demures, letting Clarke take the cups and pointing her to a pitcher of the stuff. As Clarke pours, the tent is conspicuously silent; she glances behind her to find Helena and Lexa just looking at each other with tear stained faces, the very image of two people who have thought about a moment for so long that they don't know what to do now that it's here. 

"Lexa, I..." Helena starts, finally finding her voice as Clarke returns. Raven is pointedly poking around at the contents of the low table beside her with one hand, and rubbing her leg with the other. "I'm so, so sorry. When I heard what had happened I--" Helena breaks down again, fresh tears streaming from her eyes. "I thought you had died. I thought for sure the last things I would ever say to you were--"

"It's alright," Lexa says, and takes one of Helena's hands in her own. It can be strange to see Lexa be physically affectionate with anyone else - she so rarely is - but Clarke is too busy remembering that last day in the throne room to notice. Was that the last time Helena saw Lexa? When she slapped her full across the face? "I maintain now, as I did then, that I deserved that. And I am here now."

It was Helena and Raven that insisted Clarke spend time with Lexa that day. The day before she was supposed to fight Roan, the day she was shot. If not for them, Clarke would have had to contend not only with the reality that Lexa very well might die, but that the last thing she and Lexa ever did together was fight. Of course, the reason she went to her in the first place was to avoid that exact consequence - if brought on by a different fight, a different scenario where one of only two outcomes would be Lexa bleeding out in front of her.

The temptation to dive into that train of thought is so strong it takes Clarke a moment to gather herself.

They spend some time filling Helena in on the events of the last month. Clarke gives the sort of details about Lexa's condition she couldn't have offered before, and Lexa talks about her experience with recovery thus far. Raven alternates between supplementing their stories with her own information and listening attentively, half on the edge of her seat as she picks up details even she hasn't had until now. Each interruption from the mechanic causes Lexa to pause, as though being reminded of Raven's presence leaves her a bit more hesitant to share, but Helena's familiar questioning is always enough to get her talking again. For Clarke, it's surprisingly nice to hear. For all that she doesn't suspect Lexa of lying to her, Lexa has never spoken about it as freely as she does now.

It's strangely both painful and reassuring to listen to her experiences with physical therapy. Painful, because it's even more obvious as she's speaking to Helena how frustrating and psychologically crushing the process has been for her. Lexa is, of course, characteristically stoic about it and so maybe Raven doesn't see it, but Clarke certainly can and she imagines Helena can too. Recovery has taken a toll on her in a way Clarke was too busy to notice until recently, caught up as she was in relief that Lexa is alive at all. Lexa isn't herself, that much has been obvious, but to hear her talk now...something is missing. It's almost as if, in some ways, she's losing the will to _be_ herself. 

But on the other hand, it's also reassuring. Beneath the story Lexa tells is an essential piece she's unwilling to admit to: _progress._ Lexa isn't dying, she isn't bedridden anymore, and he can largely take care of herself. Gone is the time that she needed Clarke's help for even the most mundane of tasks. It's clear that isn't enough for her, a feeling which Clarke is empathetic to. But at least it's something, and it's clear that having Helena with her again has sparked something in Lexa that Clarke hasn't seen much of since they arrived in Arkadia. A spark of determination, very much bordering on excitement.

In a moment of contented silence, Clarke decides to change the subject. They've exhausted every aspect of Lexa's recovery and planned physical fitness routine. And after all, the end goal is never really far from her mind. "Helena, you said you had a long week," Clarke cocks her head to the side, trying to remember everything they discussed at their meeting earlier in the day. "You've told us - well, me - a little about the general climate of Polis, but it seemed like you meant...I don't know, something else."

Helena rolls her eyes at this, a sneer of disgust crossing her lips. "A lot of it isn't the kind of thing I can complain about with your Council," she explains, and Lexa tips her head. Green eyes flash to Clarke; Lexa had known that Helena would meet with the Council first thing, but Clarke hadn't told her what, exactly, had been discussed. She'd had approximately five minutes in which to do so before Lexa all but hustled her out the door, but she suspects Lexa doesn't much care about that detail. "Because a lot of it isn't directly political. Roan has been regularly convening meetings with the Coalition, and maligns your name," she looks at Lexa, "Every opportunity he gets. Reminds us all that you died, and didn't even do so with a sword in your hand. He alternates between smug victory and feigned outrage that 'we' were robbed of our leader by _Skaikru_ treachery."

 _Skaikru treachery_ , Clarke notes. So that's how he's playing it? Lexa was murdered by one of the Sky People delegation. The idea makes her blood boil, but she can't exactly fault him for it: nothing in the Grounder arsenal makes a sound or leaves a blood spray like a gun does, and their rapid escape into the night doesn't exactly make them look innocent.

"He says Lexa sucked," Raven says with a raised eyebrow, drawing Clarke's attention to the present, "and then also pretends to be mad she's dead? When he wanted to kill her too? And no one sees through that?"

Helena gives her a look. "Roan isn't exactly the politician of the operation. Nia and her newt of an ambassador are the ones that are really maintaining order, working behind closed doors to keep a balance while he rages. Roan's a rabid dog, and left to his own devices he'd have half the Coalition at war with the other within a month. But Nia's ambitions are bigger than that. She wants the whole thing or nothing, and so far has kept him on a tight leash."

"I'm sure he's enjoying that," Raven mutters.

“That man is begging for a bullet between the eyes. Or a knife between his ribs,” Clarke snarls, her hand twitching toward the knife in question at her back. The thought of Roan accusing Lexa of cowardice inspires something very similar to the emotion she experienced right before she punched him in the face. Twice. “I don’t know how you put up with that much bullshit, I would’ve...” _done something very violent by now, if I were you_. “I can see the need for excessive drinking.”

"Exactly. And I have to just smile and make nice." A quick glance at Lexa - who has dropped her eyes to her lap - and Helena hastily adds: "For good reason, obviously. Every day that Polis is stuck in a deadlock is another day we have, I know that. And most of the Coalition isn't sold on Roan being the Commander anyway; as long as we can keep them arguing with each other over the Nightbloods, we can buy our time."

Green eyes that had been idly studying her hands now lock sharply and ardently on Helena. "What about the Nightbloods?" Lexa demands, and Clarke's stomach sinks.

Helena sighs through her nose before saying, "The movement for a new Conclave is gaining speed." She glances at Clarke, and in that look Clarke can see the incorrect assumption she makes: that Lexa already knows some of this. "Indra and I have some ideas about keeping the Plains Riders, Delphi, and Lake People undecided, so Madi doesn't have enough power to demand Roan be replaced with one of your Nightbloods, and _Azgeda_ doesn't get enough power to declare war on _Skaikru."_

Lexa stands as Helena is speaking, and she begins to pace behind the couch. Her brow puckers, her jaw sets, and Clarke's stomach sinks deeper. She braces herself, waits for the fury she knows must be brewing beneath that expression...but when Lexa speaks again, it's with a cool pragmatism that somehow doesn't make her feel better. "Summer is upon us," she notes, eyes still on the ground. "Has he assigned the Nightbloods yet? Who will he send where?"

Clarke’s ears immediately perk up. She knows that the Nightbloods are often assigned to warriors as seconds. Lexa was Anya’s, after all. But it hadn’t occurred to her that Ronnie or Kita might be able to leave Polis. The idea gives her hope - until Helena starts shaking her head, a sad look on her face.

"He...hasn't yet. And it's unlikely that he will." Helena watches Lexa carefully as the other woman's pacing slows. Lexa looks up at her, her eyes wary. "As long as he has them in Polis, he has them under his control. He knows not all of us are loyal to him, and he knows that not all of them accept him. Sending them out would remove a powerful pawn, and invite rebellion from the only people who could have power over him."

“They’re in danger every second they’re living in that tower with him.” The words leave Clarke’s lips in a quiet exhale. Along with the following thought that she hates herself instantly for voicing aloud: “And we’re using them. We should be getting them out, not letting them take the brunt of Roan’s...” Clarke waves a hand, unable to think of an appropriately heinous word. “Assholerly.”

Lexa pauses in her pacing and turns away from them, prompting Helena to exchange a concerned glance with Clarke. Raven looks between all four of them, clearly not quite comprehending the details but understanding the gravity of the situation. 

They watch as Lexa moves towards the edge of the tent and reaches for something she's spied. Clarke only realizes it's a dagger when she unsheathes it. 

"How much time do we have?" She asks, studying the edge. 

"It's hard to say," Helena admits.

“Enough,” Clarke corrects. She eyes the knife's edge warily, watches it glint in the firelight as Lexa tips it this way and that. Lexa hasn’t had a weapon in her hands since she was shot - the sight of it now tips that weight in Clarke’s stomach into nausea. “We’ll make it enough.”

Lexa's eyes remain on the steel for a time, at too much of an angle for Clarke to tell what's going on behind them. Then she sheathes the blade with a _snap_ and turns to look at them. 

"What of _Azgeda's_ armies?" She asks, and comes back to sit beside Helena as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened. The dagger clatters onto the low table between them. "Has he moved them into the city?"

Helena opens her mouth to respond, but Clarke cuts her off. "Why don't we put off this conversation until tomorrow?" Two pairs of eyebrows raise at her from the opposite couch. She can't blame them; Clarke hadn't exactly planned the words before they were out of her mouth. But that same feeling in her stomach - which is starting to feel uncomfortably close to fear - spurs her forward. "We'll be discussing it in the morning with Indra anyway, and you've only just seen each other. Why don't we try, I don't know, not talking about miserable things for once?"

"Oh come now, we don't _only_ talk about miserable things," Helena says, tossing a wink to Clarke. "But I don't know that Indra and I will have a chance to meet before we gather with your Council tomorrow, and Lexa should know what's happening before going into that."

Lexa's eyebrows go up just slightly at that, and she looks at Clarke. "I am invited?"

"Of course," Helena laughs - but one look at Lexa's face and the laughter dies. Her eyes dart between Clarke and Lexa, another incorrect assumption behind them. "You're still our Commander. Why wouldn't you be?"

"You are invited..." Clarke trails off, searching her mind for not just an explanation, but the right one.

Lexa isn't technically invited, but she isn't explicitly _not_ invited. It occurred to Clarke a few days ago that her mother hadn't brought up Lexa attending the meeting on purpose, and Clarke chose not to press the matter - for a litany of reasons almost too long to count. Lexa is in a fragile physical state, the stress of standing or sitting up for who knows how many hours could easily be too much. Her mental state is even more ambiguous and Clarke has no interest in pushing her further down whatever rabbit hole she's currently spiraling through. Pike will be there, along with other less-than-sympathetic council members who will undoubtedly and loudly express their displeasure with Lexa's presence. Indra and Helena will look to her for an ultimate decision, which Lexa is in no position to give and will only incense Pike and his ilk more, not to mention her mother...the list goes on.

Not that Lexa or Helena will accept any of these explanations, of course.

"I'm nervous about you attending," Clarke admits. "You've only just started moving around on your own, I don't want to put undue pressure on you before it's necessary." True, if vague. "Besides, the meeting will basically be a litany of reports followed by decisions on how to avoid _Azgeda_ and buy ourselves more time. I hoped we could handle it without involving you."

Helena continues to look between Lexa and Clarke. "She's the Commander," she says. Lexa just steadily watches Clarke. "There _is_ no doing this without her. We all know this."

“Oh, I’m aware,” Clarke sighs and meets Lexa’s eyes. “Acutely. But this is just planning. Triage, really. If you aren’t up to it...” she trails off. Sighs again. This is a battle she won’t win. Why are they all battles she won’t win? “You are invited, of course.”

"Thank you," Lexa says simply. "I believe I can handle it."

With little more prompting than that, Helena launches into a recounting of what they know about the larger political landscape outside of Polis. Though Helena speaks with the same casual ease she always does, her attention centers on Lexa far more than it does on Clarke or Raven. It feels like a kind of wall has gone up, adding to the growing feeling of unease in Clarke's chest as she watches the changing expressions on Lexa's face - expressions that disappear behind a carefully impassive mask each time Lexa realizes Clarke's watching. Lexa may no longer have a helm of awe, but it's the eyes of the Commander watching her.

 _Floukru_ and _Trikru_ are aligned in knowing of Lexa's survival, and _Yujledakru_ is aligned with _Trikru_. Though kept out of the larger loop, Wyatt's trust in Indra has him extremely suspicious of Roan, and he never had a close relationship with Nia. The obvious influence she had and has over Roan puts him ill at ease; the people of Broadleaf apparently prefer a strong Commander independent of any specific clan, and Roan is not that.

Further out to sea are the Blue Cliff and Shallow Valley clans. Ilian remains suspicious of _Skaikru_ influence in Polis, and fears that Lexa's absence won't prevent them from attempting to establish a stronger foothold in Coalition politics; he's doing everything he can to persuade Madi to throw in with _Azgeda_. While that makes Shallow Valley less than an ally, Madi leads the voices calling for a new Conclave. Despite Roan's incessant claims, Lexa died before a trial by combat could be administered, and before said trial could find her an illegitimate heir to the Flame. Short of that judgment, she died the Commander - and when a Commander dies, a new one is chosen from the next generation of Nightbloods. Giving the throne to Roan, Madi argues, would be far worse than anything he has accused Lexa of. She had persuaded a number of clan leaders away from outright allying with Roan or _Azgeda,_ and at least one to join her in her call for a Conclave: the Blue Cliff clan, a fact which has frustrated _Azgeda's_ efforts to no end. 

Among _Azgeda's_ only immediate allies is the Glowing Forest clan, and they would be the source of a vast majority of supplies for any _Azgedan_ war effort. That causes a problem for Nia, because half the Coalition sits between her lands and the Glowing Forest; the most direct route to _Azgeda_ \- or to Polis, or to any potential battlefield with _Skaikru_ \- is through Blue Cliff territory, and the leader and ambassador of Blue Cliff have absolutely been feeling the pressure. But with Madi's influence, Blue Cliff continues to resist them at every turn. The same can't be said of other clans, as _Azgeda_ has been putting pressure on its neighbors by threatening to close borders and trade routes. The Desert Clan in particular is wavering, but with their scarce supplies and even scarcer population they don't amount to a major threat. Far more worrying is the Rock Line clan, who supported _Azgeda's_ push to oust Lexa and now seem all but signed on to their plan to push through Roan. They would offer a way around Blue Cliff for Glowing Forest supplies, and have a formidable army themselves. It would still take weeks for anything to get to _Azgeda,_ but it would eventually get there - emboldening a clan whose warriors are already harrying _Trikru_ and _Floukru_ borders.

Ultimately, it seems to be mostly good news. _Azgeda_ can't move on _Skaikru_ with so few allies, and Madi's impressive influence in calling for a new Conclave has kept Roan from gathering too much power. For the moment, at least. Arkadia is as safe as it could be - which can't be said of Roan, Kita, or any of the Nightbloods. While Madi's call for a new Conclave buys them time, if she were to succeed they would risk returning to yet another legitimate Commander - and Clarke would risk losing one or both of the kids she's come to love.

"What happens, if there is a new Conclave?" Clarke asks, interrupting a report on movements of supply trains. "If the Coalition agreed to it, what would that mean for us? For Lexa?"

Helena looks askance, turning to the woman in question. Lexa sits beside her with one leg crossed over the other and her eyes on her lap. She doesn't look up, but can clearly feel the eyes on her; she flicks a non-existent speck from her knee.

"In that case, it is likely best that I stay dead," she says. That stoic wall still surrounds her, blocking whatever emotion must resonate behind those words. "If the Nightblood who succeeds me is against us, they will likely stop at nothing to kill me for all the reasons Roan would. Even if I no longer had a claim to the title, I could still wield enough influence over my supporters to start a civil war - and I would be sorely tempted to do so. But that would guarantee an end to the Coalition, and war for _Skaikru_. If the Nightblood who succeeds me is sympathetic to our cause, my appearance would only guarantee a divide in their support. If the Coalition is to survive this, and _Skaikru_ with it, an allied Commander must be without challenge."

"Either way," Raven says slowly, speaking for the first time in an hour, "We lose our ace in the hole."

Lexa looks at Raven for a long moment with an unreadable expression. Then she gives the slightest of nods.

Longing fills Clarke's heart so fast, there shouldn't be room for the amount of shame that quickly follows. If there were a new allied Commander, Lexa would be free of this. _They_ would be free of this. But it would mean either Ronnie or Kita's death, if not both, and would be a risk either way. Once again, there is no winning. Only losing one precious thing for another.

"We'll have to be careful, then," Clarke says, easily sliding her own politician's mask into place. Even in the face of so much pain and uncertainty, it's disturbingly easy. Almost comforting, in a sickening sort of way. "Careful not to allow either side to gain too much support, but enough that the argument continues. It's going to take some seriously subtle manipulating."

"A gentle and dexterous hand," Helena agrees, somehow unable to resist innuendo even now. It draws a brief grin to Raven's lips. "But it is possible. We still have ears and eyes inside the tower," she looks pointedly at Lexa, who nods, "and they've been able to feed us information about _Azgeda's_ strategy. The more we know about what they're doing behind closed doors, the more my people and Indra's can foil their attempts at gaining the upper hand. Keep things in enough confusion, and we can buy ourselves months, at least."

"Or you can get Roan angry enough that he doesn't give a shit anymore, and he goes to war with _Floukru_ and _Trikru,"_ Raven points out, but Helena only shrugs.

"Let him try," she says, and leans back against the cushions. "We'll be ready for them."

Despite the obvious posturing, Clarke can't help but smile. "Much as I'd love to see what armor looks like for _Helena kom Floukru,_ Nia won't let him declare war. Not as long as she thinks she's winning. We just have to be sure to leave her enough breadcrumbs that she believes she's slowly gaining the upper hand. Without, you know. Actually giving it to her."

"Would you like us all to stand on our heads while we do it, too?" Helena teases with a grin.

"Stop, it's too many pleasant images at once, you're hurting my brain," Clarke winks. And then, more seriously, "Headstands or no, I do wish I could be there to help," she flashes a guilty look in Raven's direction. "Not that I doubt Jada or Lief's abilities - or yours - but I wish I could help more. We're just waiting." Clarke thinks of Pike and his soldiers, and the bevy of complaints he's sure to throw at whatever the Council decides tomorrow. "And it's surprisingly difficult convincing everyone to wait, even with a pile of evidence that it's the right choice."

"Such is leadership," Lexa says at the same time that Helena says, "Welcome to politics." They exchange a look and a grin.

"But seriously, Clarke," Helena continues, folding her legs in a mirror of Lexa's posture, "It's better that you're here. We all know that Roan would kill you as soon as he saw you--" A sentiment that they did indeed all share, and that pulls a dark expression to Lexa's otherwise guarded eyes-- "And at any rate, we know the Coalition. Only you know _Skaikru_. You have fewer bodies to keep in line, but they're no less important; if _Skaikru_ suddenly decides to swing towards war, we're all screwed, too."

Clarke abandoned her jacket an hour ago, leaving the fingers of her right hand free to rove absently over the scars on her left forearm. "I don't think we're at much risk of that, certainly not yet. And if we get there and I have to tackle Pike and trap him in a storage closet to keep us from going to war, then that's what I'll do. But I would rather avoid it."

"You will," Lexa says, and there's a certainty in her voice that hasn't been there for a long time. It makes Clarke's chest feel tight.

"So I know we said this was better served without booze," Raven pipes up, "But does anybody else feel like they need a drink?"

Clarke and Helena bob their heads in unison and Raven jumps at the opportunity to move.

They avoid politics for another hour, resolutely sticking to topics that are more lighthearted. It's difficult to do - everything seems to come back to their current situation. But between Helena's endless sarcasm and Raven's blunt jokes, they're able to pivot away from less appealing topics quickly. By the time Lexa and Clarke leave it's well into the early morning.

Helena embraces Lexa again, this time more gently. They exchange a few hushed words that Clarke does her best not to overhear, and then they're off. Sneaking through the cluster of tents until they reach the stretch of field between the training grounds and Alpha.

Lexa's presence has been a faint buzz of tension lingering just a half step behind Clarke. Clarke attempts to ignore it, offers a few lighthearted comments that fail to land, avoids looking at Lexa, hopes that it's in her own head... But as they reach that open stretch, abandoned at this hour, Lexa speaks up and Clarke's chest grows tight again - this time out of stress of the oncoming confrontation.

"Did you know about the stalemate in Polis?" Lexa asks, in a way that's just a little bit harsh - in a way that suggests Lexa already anticipates an affirmative answer. "That the Nightbloods are at the center of it?"

Clarke takes a deep breath, savoring the fresh air. The moments before a fight that she wishes would stretch into forever instead of taking her into the next second. "I knew that Roan was gathering allies," she says and falls back a little to be in line with Lexa, "and I'd heard that Madi was leading a push for a new Conclave - though I didn't know how much traction she's apparently made."

From here, Lexa's hood does nothing to hide the tension in her jaw. "But you did know that we were making a wager to buy ourselves more time. A wager with their lives as the collateral." Lexa's voice doesn't get louder, but it does develop a sharper edge. "And you neglected to tell me."

"I didn't know the extent of Madi's influence, not until tonight." Clarke can hear her own voice curling around the edges of frustration. "I didn't realize a new Conclave was a serious issue, there were other more pressing things to worry about."

"I see," Lexa says, in a tone that suggests she absolutely does not. "And were those pressing matters why you _also_ neglected to tell me I was invited to this meeting tomorrow?"

"I..." Clarke exhales, runs a hand through her hair. There's the fury she'd been expecting. Bottled up and reserved just for her, a special end-of-night treat. "I didn't want you to push yourself before you're ready. You haven't even met with the Council yet by yourself, let alone with the extra pressure Helena's and Indra's presence will bring. We may be allies, but even among my people there are those who oppose working together. I was worried it would be too much."

" _T_ _oo much?"_ Now Lexa whirls on her, stopping dead in her tracks with her fists clenched at her sides. "I have stood before dozens of enemies who would have killed me with their bare hands, and I have turned them into _allies_. My injury does not make me an invalid, and it _certainly_ does not make me incompetent."

"I _know_ that." Frustration is now less curling around and more decidedly infused in Clarke's words. "I know who you are, I know what you've done. I don't doubt your abilities, only your willingness to identify when you need rest and space and a break from all this and then act on it. I'm trying to give you that space."

"I didn't _ask_ for that space," Lexa retorts, and as quickly as she stopped starts moving again.

"You never do," Clarke mutters, but she imagines Lexa is close enough to hear. She’s already several paces ahead and Clarke has to jog to catch up. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," she says and grabs Lexa's hand to pull her back, "that you're invited tomorrow. I should have. I'm just worried about you, and not just physically. You're..." Clarke searches her mind for the right words, the right way to convey a sentiment that feels so frustratingly awful to say out loud. "You're not yourself, lately."

" _How can I be?"_ Lexa demands. That she doesn't yank her hand out of Clarke's grip is some slight comfort - but when she steps closer to Clarke, it's with a challenge in her eyes. Her jaw is set, her eyes hard with a glare that dares Clarke to try grabbing her again, and that challenge isn't weakened in the least by the tears that now shine at the corners of Lexa's eyes. "Everything I _was_ was action - cause and effect. And now I am not even _included in a meeting with my own allies."_

"You'll be that person again." Clarke takes Lexa's other hand in her own, gently this time. "You are that person. Now, always. You're just hurt, and in more ways than one. That doesn't change who you are."

"Yes yes, I have heard it before," Lexa answers flatly, and now she does take back her hands. Not roughly, not angrily - just lets them fall from Clarke's as she takes a step back. "And what of me in the meantime? I exist in limbo, while everyone around me makes decisions _for_ me?"

“If you’re talking about your health, then yes,” Clarke can’t quite keep the stern healer tone from her voice. “When others know better than you, it’s usually smart to take their advice. As for the rest...” her voice drops along with her eyes, resting on Lexa’s now empty hands. Watches as they tense into an almost-fist and then stop. “It wasn’t my intention to exclude you, or at least not for the reasons you may think. I want you to be able to face all of this when you’re ready. When you feel confident and more yourself. I know you don’t usually have that luxury, but you could have it now.”

"Everything I have ever built," Lexa answers, and her voice trembles. Whether from temper or tears, Clarke hates to find out. "The lives of my people, of my Nightbloods, of those I care about - _all of it_ is leaning on borrowed time. I do not have that luxury now, anymore than I ever have. And I will not sit idly by while others govern the outcome for me."

"No one is asking you to sit idly by - that would be like asking Helena to, I don't know, avoid innuendos for a day." Clarke attempts some semblance of a smile, but there's not much behind it. "Your job is to get better. That's it, that's the whole of your responsibility right now. Or I'd like it to be, anyway. You can trust me, me and Helena and Indra...and my mother, though I acknowledge how difficult that can be. Our job is to give you time and your job is to use it."

"Fine," Lexa snaps, clearly over hearing this. "But I would appreciate it if next time you didn't keep me in the dark."

Clarke nods and replies, even as Lexa turns and walks away from her, "Fair enough."

The rest of the walk back is silent. Slightly less tense than before, but Clarke finds little solace in that. It seems like no matter what she does, she's self-sabotaging somehow. That might have something to do with the fact that she both wants Lexa to get back to her former, confident self and also desperately wants to avoid what will inevitably come next - but that pretty much describes her existence these days. Endless conflicting feelings, constant streams of at best difficult and at worst impossible decisions.

Lexa doesn't speak more than is necessary to her while they're getting ready for bed, which hurts but Clarke can understand. It's late enough that neither of them reach for a book to read before bed and instead curl up together in the dark. Lexa has been less than cuddly lately, preferring to sleep on her good side facing away from Clarke, so it's no surprise when she turns over. But it does bring a fresh pang of sadness to Clarke's chest.

Clarke doesn't remember her nightmare when she wakes up, but the tightness in her chest and her racing heart indicate it was a doozy. Lexa is still beside her, breathing softly. There's no light coming from the tiny slit of a window above them, but it can't be far from sunrise. And Clarke's brain will absolutely not put itself back into sleep mode now. While she can't remember it exactly, images and feelings from her dreams flit hazily across her mind - and she would like very, very much to avoid them.

Thankfully the footlocker doesn't make much noise as it opens and closes, allowing Clarke to get dressed without waking Lexa. She realizes as she's pulling on her boots that Lexa has exactly one pair of pants and a hoodie to her name at this point. There's no way the Commander will want to wear that in front of her allied forces during a council meeting. So Clarke slips out of the room and jogs over to the opposite end of Alpha that serves as their storage space.

It hadn't occurred to Clarke until the exact moment she steps into the room that no one would be here yet. No sweet talking required - she has the run of the place to herself, this early in the morning. She'll have to remember that.

It's slim pickings, clothes particularly so until _Skaikru_ finds an efficient way to make more. But thankfully Lexa is slim enough that most people don't need her size in pants - those at least are easy to find. Clarke grabs two pairs of jeans, one that was almost certainly intended to be a darker blue than it currently is, and the other a dark enough grey that they almost look black. They might actually have been black at one point, Clarke thinks. Then there's the issue of a shirt...t-shirts are easy enough to find, but that won't work for this particular event. Clarke grabs a few v-necks anyway and several tank tops on her way. Even if Lexa doesn't need them now, she will when she starts training. Finally she finds something decent - a sweater. Simple, but fitted, and colored a muted dark red. 

It's not exactly perfect, but Clarke has already spent more time here than she planned and will have to get out before a guard comes on duty. It'll have to work. She grabs it and stuffs it, along with everything else, into a bag before running back out the way she came.

When she returns, Lexa is sitting on the edge of the bed with tense shoulders and a deep frown on her face. Both drop away the instant she sees Clarke, and she pushes off her knees to stand. 

"Clarke," she says, and Clarke realizes it's relief that washes over her face. "You're up early. Is there a problem?"

"Not at all - or, I guess not anymore." Clarke steps around her and unceremoniously dumps the contents of her bag onto the bed. "I was raiding the storage room for you. Figured you'd want to wear something other than a hoodie to this meeting. Kinda had to rush, but I'm thinking sweater?" and she holds up the garment in question.

Lexa just blinks at her, framed in the doorway as the door slides closed again. "You...found me clothes?"

"Yeah, well you need them." The blank look on Lexa's face makes Clarke feel suddenly uncertain, bordering on embarrassed. Maybe she should've brought Lexa with her, but it's not like they have a lot of time before everyone meets this morning. "Is that alright? I can take you back to grab more, if you need them, I just thought you might want to look..." Clarke is about to say _more like yourself,_ but wearing _Skaikru_ clothes isn't exactly going to accomplish that. "I thought you might want to wear something other than my hoodie to meet with everyone."

"No, I - I hadn't considered it, if I am honest," Lexa admits, and she seems surprised at herself to find that that's true. Not that Clarke can blame her; Lexa has such a powerful dramatic streak that failing to account for _outfit choice_ feels like one of the least Lexa things she's done since coming here. Either way, she steps forward to pick up the sleeves of the sweater in her hands and feels the fabric. "Thank you, Clarke."

Perhaps it's the surprise, or perhaps it's the lingering negativity of the fight the night before - or maybe it's something entirely different. But there's a slight embarrassment in Lexa's gratitude that makes Clarke smile fondly. 

"Of course, my love," Clarke kisses her lightly on the cheek. "Hopefully this stuff fits, I had to guess your size. There was also not a ton of black left. Aside from these," she tugs the tank tops out of her bag and tosses them in a ball on her pillow. "You might have to branch out a little."

That draws a small smile to Lexa's lips in turn. "I will do my best," she says, and takes the sweater from Clarke.

The sweater was very clearly machine made at one point, the dark red fabric tightly knit and even throughout. It has also very clearly seen years - if not generations - of use, and though it fits Lexa well it is visibly stretched out in places. The worst offender is its cuffs, but that is easily remedied by pushing them midway up Lexa's arms (which suits Clarke just fine as she finds, in an extremely specific thought that makes her wonder again just how long it's been since they had sex, that doing so emphasizes the remaining strength of Lexa's hands). 

When paired with the pilfered pants and her Polis boots, Lexa stands before her in a facsimile of her usual uniform. The sweater is not a cape and the pants are not a pauldron, but Lexa stands a little straighter now. Clarke even catches her moving into 'Commander Stance' with her hands behind her back as she checks herself in the mirror.

Spurred by this sudden and very appealing train of thought, Clarke moves to wrap her arms around Lexa from behind and rests her chin on Lexa's shoulder. "Our clothes look good on you," she says quietly, aware that she's just an inch or two from Lexa's ear. "Not that I'm surprised."

"They are surprisingly comfortable," Lexa hums, her weight shifting just slightly to fold back against Clarke's. She lifts one leg experimentally. "I do think the pants could have more give, though."

"That's as stretchy as a pair of jeans has ever been," Clarke chuckles. "Assuming Octavia isn't hoarding them, I'll see if I can find you some athletic pants. Or whatever they're called. They're stretchier than these, with a little more give. And usually black," she adds with a smile and kisses Lexa’s jaw before reluctantly releasing her. "We should probably head to the caf if we want to grab food before meeting everyone."

"Of course," Lexa says, and there is some reluctance in letting Clarke go. But then her hands are moving again, magicking her hair band from the pocket of the pants she put on a whole five minutes ago to tie her hair back. With a final look in the mirror, she nods and turns to Clarke. "Shall we?"

Breakfast is a quick thing, as most of Clarke's friends are already on shift or not yet awake at that hour. They get a brief nod from Octavia and Lincoln as the pair drop in to filtch food before heading for the training yard, but otherwise it is a sparse few minutes wolfing down food. Then it's back to Alpha Station for the foreseeable future. 

A light rain leaves their shoulders and hair damp by the time they make it inside, but no one in the Council chambers makes note of it. Instead, all eyes are occupied with Lexa - albeit for differing reasons. Indra is already there, her delegation having arrived before dawn; she and Helena have their heads together in one corner until they catch sight of their Commander. Helena smiles warmly while Indra's eyes go wide, as though she had feared she would find a different woman than the one she had seen in the hospital bed weeks ago. She presses a fist to her heart and is quick to welcome Lexa into the huddle, and they continue their conversation in hushed Trigedasleng. Abby watches this from the other side of the room where Kane is speaking to her equally quietly. When Clarke catches her eye she raises an eyebrow - though Clarke senses it's more about Lexa's physical presence than anything the others are doing. Clearly she didn't anticipate having Lexa here.

That doesn't stop her from calling the meeting to order as soon as the Council is gathered. They take their usual seats at the large round table in the center of the room, and Indra, Helena, and Clarke take the three remaining seats that had been set out. Not knowing that Lexa would be there means there is not a seat for her, but she doesn't seem phased by this; she rejects Helena's and Indra's insistence that they take their seat and instead finds one on a bench built into one of the walls. She folds one leg over the other and, with her back straight and head held high, she might as well be sitting on her throne, holding court from the back of the room.

Not that she says much of anything in the hours that follow. As Clarke surmised, much of the meeting is spent with Indra and Helena reporting on the events in Polis and the pieces moving farther afield, stories that are supplemented with information from _Skaikru's_ scouts and intelligence officers. They also share the preparations they have made and plan to make on their side, the materials they have been able to stockpile and the modifications being made to the Mountain and to Arkadia. There is little that the Grounders are asked to decide on now, but any answer given to a request made of them is accompanied by a glance in Lexa's direction. Every time, she returns their look without any indication of a response.

It's not exactly how Clarke expected this to go. She hadn't known what to expect, really, but bringing Lexa here was clearly a wrench thrown in the plan. Clarke anticipated she would at least speak up - acknowledge when Helena or Indra wanted her input, give her opinion when she wanted to. Things Lexa would absolutely, normally do. But this isn't normal Lexa, and the longer the meeting goes on the more Clarke sees that clearly. This Lexa isn't engaging at all, just watching impassively. It's somehow more alarming than if she were interjecting every two minutes.

By the end of the meeting, nearly four hours later, they've exchanged what Clarke imagines is every possibly relevant piece of information under the sun. It's far too much to keep track of but of course her mother takes copious notes, along with several other council members, and Clarke remembers the salient points. They have more to work with than originally anticipated, but it's still not much. And might not be enough, if they can't keep Roan and Madi at odds. Abby reports that based on Lexa's progress in physical therapy thus far, she'll need at least three months to recover her strength and ideally more. (During her mother's report, Lexa breaks her wall of emotionlessness long enough to throw Clarke an exasperated look.) All the while the Nightbloods hang in the balance.

Clarke thinks of Ronnie and Kita several times, often to the detriment of hearing whatever is being discussed. They think Lexa is dead. There's no way they could know, only the people in this room know Lexa is alive. Either they've thrown their lot in with Roan - even the thought of which makes Clarke nearly throw up in her mouth - or they're waiting. Protecting each other and the younger ones, Clarke is sure, but waiting for the day that they'll be called into a new conclave. It's the best thing they can hope for, and the horrible truth of that leaves Clarke feeling like someone hollowed out her chest cavity with a spoon.

If the occasional vacancy in Lexa's eyes is any indication, she slips into a similar train of thought every so often. But she is present and sharp by the time the meeting breaks up, Indra immediately separating herself from the table to be at Lexa's side. Helena is a little less abrupt in her disentangling, but joins them a moment later. After another short conversation in Trigedasleng, Lexa stands - and though her face maintains that absolute detachment of the Commander's mask, Clarke can tell from the way that she relies on her arms and favors one side that her wound must be bothering her. There is a sour satisfaction in knowing that she was right to be concerned about Lexa sitting upright for so long, but then the Grounders turn to go without checking in with her first. The most she gets is a lingering, impenetrable look from Lexa, and then they're moving for the door.

She thinks to intercept them, but is herself intercepted before she can take more than a step. Abby swoops down in front of her, putting herself directly between Clarke and the others. "What the hell, Clarke?" She asks quietly, her eyes moving rapidly from one of Clarke's to the other. "I thought we agreed she wouldn't be here."

Despite Abby's frustration being a near echo of Clarke's own concern, irritation flashes through her at the accusation in her mother's voice. "I didn't think she would be, but Helena told her about it and she wanted to attend. Turns out it's better that she came - Indra and Helena would have been far less cooperative without her."

"And Pike and his boys were far less cooperative _with_ her," Abby answers sharply. "We both know he's not going to accept a comparative _child_ as the leader of the people trying to kill us, and we both know she shouldn't undertake this much stress."

“I know!” Clarke’s voice rises unintentionally, drawing the attention of several people still in the room. “I know,” she seethes, more quietly, “I feel the same. I tried to convince her but she wanted to come, and the fact remains that she _is_ their leader. Regardless of who likes it and who doesn’t. Lexa is the reason we have allies at all.” Clarke takes a breath, focused on relaxing her suddenly very tense shoulders. “I can’t force her not to come to these things, no matter how much I might want to. And it’s only going to get harder to convince her to devote her attention to her health the stronger she gets.”

"But she _must,"_ Abby says, stepping further into Clarke's space. "Her health is the most crucial element of this plan - she must know that the best way she can help all of us is to focus on her health."

Clarke very consciously does not take a step back - and in fact leans forward, putting her directly two inches from her mother’s face. She looks from one of Abby’s eyes to the other and puts as much weight into her words as possible. “We both understand that. I’ll keep her focused. Now let’s follow everyone out of here before they wonder why we’re standing here angry-whispering.”

Abby casts a quick glance up to find a few council members finding excuses to linger, their eyes on the mother and daughter pair. She gives them all a wane smile. "Good point," she says, and takes Clarke's shoulder and ushers her out.

There had been no discussion beforehand about the Grounders retreating to a separate location after the meeting, so Clarke has no idea where Lexa may be. She's sorely tempted to go back to her room and just wait for Lexa to return, but as always there is too much to be done to warrant her just sitting around.

Or so she thought. After monitoring two supply runs shipping out to the Mountain and organizing newly delivered medical equipment with Eric, Clarke is surprised to realize that she has...nothing to do. Nothing immediate, in any case. Her mother is occupied with the Council and perhaps Indra and Helena. Kane seems so harried he barely even offers Clarke a glance as he runs by, and Pike and his soldiers are surprisingly relaxed at the moment. Some are even drinking and laughing with the Grounder warriors Indra brought with her.

It’s almost peaceful, and without trouble abound Clarke has no idea what to do with herself. So when she spots Lincoln sitting alone at the bar nursing an ale, she decides to join him.

He does a full on double take when he sees her settle in next to her. "My eyes must deceive me," he teases with a small grin, "because I think I see Clarke at rest."

Clarke rolls her eyes and shoves him playfully. “I could say the same for you. A rare solo Lincoln sighting. Where’s your more obnoxious half?”

"Helping Bellamy with something." He gives a shrug. "He caught us on our way here, said it wouldn't be long. So here I wait."

“I know the feeling,” Clarke grumbles into her cup before taking a sip. “Better to wait together. With beer,” and she tips her cup up at him in a small salute.

"Mm." Lincoln tips his cup back in answer. "Has the Commander left you to your own devices?"

The word “Commander” rings in Clarke’s head like the heady screech of a low-oxygen alarm. “It’s more like _everyone_ has left me to my own devices. Which is about as unusual as catching you alone. But I’m sure she’s with Indra and Helena.” _No doubt neglecting the fact that this much activity is surely causing her pain,_ Clarke thinks sourly.

Something she isn't saying registers on Lincoln's face, and he inclines his head. "To those of us who are the forgotten, then."

As he makes this pseudo-toast, a rousing cheer goes up from a group of _Trikru_ and _Floukru_ warriors. His head snaps towards them as if trained to do so, but the familiar words of the cheer die on his lips before he can add his voice to the chorus. He drowns them with another quick, almost casual draught of ale.

Clarke catches the way his face falls, quickly covered by his cup and a practiced neutral expression. The whole thing feels disturbingly familiar.

“How do you deal with that?” Clarke inclines her head toward the group of Grounder warriors. “Being sort of...in the middle. Part Grounder, part _Skaikru_. Ever miss when it was less complicated?”

"Sometimes," he says with a shrug. Putting his cup down he looks over his shoulder once more. "It would be nice to have both, I think. To have what you have, in a way. Your people have given me much - shelter, food, care. Some semblance of a purpose. I imagine exile is supposed to be much harder than it has been," he grins for only a second before it disappears again. "But losing that part of myself...it's still not easy."

Clarke considers that, swilling some of the liquid around in her mouth as she does so. No doubt in a decidedly unattractive way.

“It so often feels like the choices we make were never choices at all,” she thinks aloud, “and yet we’re judged for those choices anyway. I’m sure if I asked, you’d say there’s nothing you would do differently if you could go back. But that doesn’t make living with it easier.” Clarke purses her lips into a flat smile. “I guess we have more in common than I thought.”

"Isn't that the basis of the entire alliance you built?" Lincoln says, tipping his head back towards the gathered Grounders. "You say it like it's new to you.'

Clarke rolls her eyes. “I meant you and I, Lincoln. Of course all of us have more in common than not - the Coalition Lexa built exists for the same reason. We are all more similar than not.”

Lincoln just nods in response, looking down into his mug. "I imagine she isn't doing well with this," he says, and Clarke doesn't have to guess who he's talking about. He may not know the specifics of all that's happening in Polis and beyond, but it doesn't take a genius to know that it isn't good news.

“No,” the word slips out of Clarke’s mouth in an exhale - in a way that feels like a deflating, if temporary, defeat. “No, she’s not. The worst thing I could tell Lexa is that she’s not strong enough, and as her healer I have the pleasure of telling her that every few hours.” She takes a large gulp of ale. “Always my favorite parts of the day.

"Injuries can be hard," Lincoln acknowledges. "In the weeks it took me to recover from the Red Mist, there were plenty of times I was frustrated with my own body. And I didn't have a war to prevent. So for what it's worth," he nudges Clarke's mug with his own, "I doubt it's personal."

“I’m aware of that,” Clarke bites, harsher than she intends. She clears her throat and exhales slowly, focuses. Tries again. “I know why this is hard for her. It’s hard for me for a lot of the same reasons, which says nothing of her physical abilities.” She gives Lincoln a sidelong look, suddenly a little too aware of just how much Lexa might dislike this conversation. “Not that she’d appreciate me saying so.”

"Forget you said so, then," he says, and holds the palms of his hands out.

They go back and forth in somewhat uneasy conversation after that, neither of them wanting to tread on the foot of the elephant in the room. Whatever errand Bellamy had taken his sister on must run longer than expected, because Octavia has not turned up by the time that another familiar set of faces appears. Clarke spots Helena, Indra, and Lexa as they come around the corner of Alpha, striding purposefully towards the station's entrance. Purposefully, that is, until Lexa's eye catches Clarke's; at that point she pauses in her step, falling an additional foot behind the two chiefs. Clarke is already up and out of her seat.

She instinctively scans every inch of Lexa. Her posture, her facial expressions, the way she moves. Lexa looks tired and sore, Clarke surmises, but otherwise not too worse for wear.

Clarke pauses long enough to say, “Thanks for the company, Lincoln.” The warrior nods and watches as she jogs over to the three women.

By then Helena has noticed Lexa falling behind, and she and Indra stop to look. Lexa exchanges a look with them, but before Clarke can even say anything she tells them, "Go on. You have my confidence."

Helena looks uncertainly at Clarke as she approaches, but she nods and turns for Alpha without a word. Indra follows at her side.

“What’s that all about?” Clarke asks. She stops beside Lexa, suddenly unsure whether to close the space between them or keep her distance.

"We...they have answers for your Council," Lexa answers, correcting herself with a furrow of her brow. "But I do not believe I am needed for it."

Clarke nods slowly, uncertain why Lexa wouldn’t join them but resisting the urge to ask. “How are you feeling? You’ve been moving around quite a bit today.”

To say that it pained Lexa to admit this would be a slight exaggeration - but there is definitely hesitation before she meets Clarke's eyes and says, "You were right. Today's activities have been challenging - and I would benefit from some rest."

Clarke chuckles and finally closes the distance between them to kiss Lexa’s cheek. “Well if it helps ease the frustration at telling me I was right, you have managed it better than I feared. I admit, you’re stronger than I gave you credit for. But don’t let it go to your head,” she quickly follows up, “you should still be careful.”

" _Sha, fisa_ \- I will be." Lexa smiles a little at the kiss and nods her head. "Is there anyone who needs your attention at the moment?"

“No, actually. It’s almost disturbing how little I have to do.” Clarke inclines her head to the side. “Would you say you’re also unneeded by others at the moment?”

"I would say that if I am to lose those that do, now would be the time." Lexa nudges Clarke's shoulder with her own. "And that if my healer thinks I ought to rest, now would be her opportunity to abscond with me."

“Perfect,” Clarke grins and takes Lexa’s hand. “In that case, I have a surprise for you. It will require a bit more walking, but if you’re up for it I’ll allow it - in service of the surprise, of course.”

"Certainly not for any selfish, non-medical reasons, of course not," Lexa chuckles, and she gives Clarke's hand a squeeze. "Lead on."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lincooooooooln!


	6. A Place of One's Own

Clarke finished with her little project just a few days ago, but there hasn’t been a good time to show Lexa until now. That, and she’s found herself feeling nervous about it the more effort she puts in. It’s something she just assumed Lexa would appreciate, but what if she’s wrong? What if it feels forced, or sends the wrong message?

Those thoughts are easy enough to dismiss - Lexa doesn’t hide her feelings from Clarke, at least not very well. But still, she’s nervous, and the nervous energy translates into Clarke remaining silent for the majority of their walk. Luckily, Lexa is tired enough that she doesn’t complain or seem to mind.

Finally they make it to the field behind Alpha. Clarke squeezes Lexa’s hand and directs them even farther from the buildings, and with a raised eyebrow Lexa follows her. There’s nothing back here aside from the water tanks and an open field - and off in the distance, the fence that separates Arkadia from the forest. And a few hundred meters ahead and slightly to the right, amidst a small copse of trees cut off from the rest of the forest by the fence, is a tent.

When Clarke first had this idea, it was obvious that the right location was essential. It had to be in Arkadia, somewhere safe, but a place far enough away from everything that it would feel isolated. The little oasis of trees Clarke ultimately chose is sparse at best, but it’s something. At least the trees serve to slightly obscure the tent from the rest of the field, and that combined with the fact that few people venture back here should allow them to keep its presence a secret.

Clarke leads a now curious Lexa straight for the tent in question. It isn’t huge, but it was larger than Clarke expected when she went looking for a tent. When they’re just twenty or so meters away, it’s clear that it takes up most of the space between the trees.

“I know Alpha can be stuffy,” Clarke finally breaks the silence between them as they walk up to the front flap. “So now that you’re able to move around on your own, I thought you’d want somewhere to go that reminds you more of home. As close as we can get to it here, anyway.” Clarke opens the flap and gestures for Lexa to step inside. “It’s for you.”

The inside is simple. Two bedrolls are laid out in the right corner, set up side by side. A pile of blankets is folded below them on top of which a small orange cat sits curled in on herself. Her ears perk up as they enter the tent and Pip looks over at the two of them expectantly. Next to her are two lanterns, to be taken to and from Alpha as needed in the dark.

On the other side of the tent is a small footlocker, mostly empty for the moment aside from a few mismatched pillows and some hand selected books that Clarke may or may not have pilfered from the library. But the main event is the sword resting on top.

Lexa doesn't react immediately, and for a second Clarke's heart jumps into her throat all over again. Has she done something wrong? Was this a stupid idea from the beginning? But then she realizes: Lexa hasn't seen it yet. She steps carefully, almost reverently into the space, and her eyes seem to move everywhere but in that direction. Pip stands up and begins to meow feverishly at her - hardly a fan of Alpha, the cat hasn't been inside since Lexa was allowed out of her hospital room - until Lexa kneels to give her a scratch behind the ears. Even then, she takes a nip at Lexa's hand any time she so much as glances elsewhere.

"You did all of this...for me?" She asks, her eyes lifting from Pip to look behind her at Clarke. "Clarke, I--"

She knows the second Lexa's eyes find the black hilt. Everything else - the cat, the tent, the wind in the trees outside - drops away as though sucked out an airlock. Having balanced on one knee to pet Pip, Lexa falls now to both.

"How did you...?" The end of that question drops off as though it had been whisked from Lexa's mind before she could complete it. She reaches out and picks up the sword between both of her hands, and pulls it to her own chest. She sits there, clinging to it like it's a life raft. "I thought for certain it had been lost."

“You had it on you when we left.” Clarke skirts around Lexa until she’s able to sit on the opposite side of her, between their bedrolls and the footlocker, careful not to invade her space. “I don’t even remember taking it off you - I remember some of that night so vividly and some of it barely at all. But the next day it was still sitting in the back of the buggie.” 

She watches Lexa’s face, anxious for any signs of displeasure as Clarke admits, “I could’ve given it to you before now, but I...I thought it might do more harm than good, for you to have it and be unable to use it. I also thought I’d be done with this sooner,” she gestures at the tent surrounding them, “but gathering everything took longer than I thought it would.”

"It's incredible, Clarke." The tears now openly spill down Lexa's face, her green eyes awash in emotion as they find Clarke's again. Overwhelmed, even; she can see the gears turning in Lexa's head, but there aren't many words coming out. "I've felt so unlike myself, and this..."

Clarke’s hand reaches over to cover Lexa’s thigh of its own volition; as though even knowing Lexa might like her space, Clarke can’t help herself. “I shouldn’t have waited, then. I just thought, with it being the Commander’s sword...I didn’t know how you’d feel about having it.”

"Well...not quite." Remembering herself, Lexa lays the sheathed weapon across her thighs so she can wipe at her eyes with one hand. "The pauldron, the cape, the helm - all those things are trappings of the Commander. Sometimes they are the same one, modified to fit the newest generation, others they are made anew, but always they are the same. But a Commander's weapon..."

Lexa's hand settles on the hilt of the sword, and with a slow, careful movement, she pulls it from its sheath. The blade gleams in the light that filters through the canvas. "A Commander is, first and foremost, a warrior. And a warrior should have a weapon that suits them."

“So the sword...it’s your sword. Like yours, Lexa’s.” Clarke looks at it with a new sort of appreciation - or at least, with markedly less dislike. “I didn’t know that.”

There are tears in Lexa's eyes again as she nods. "The only thing I have ever had that is my own," she says quietly, eyes tracing the slight curve of its edge. "I never thought of it that way until now. But it is. And now it is all I have left."

“It’s not all you have left,” Clarke says gently. “You told me once that you thought there wasn’t any Lexa left, only the Commander - but you found her again. For us. You still have that. Not even Nia can take who you are away from you.” Tears prick at the corners of Clarke’s eyes and she blinks them away. “I’m glad you have it. You can run Roan through with it, for everything he’s done to you.”

"To me. To you," Lexa snarls, and an inkling of that world-shaking rage flashes through her. Seeing it is a relief in itself, considering Lexa hasn't expressed much of anything deeply in weeks now. "To my people, and to yours. To what we had..." 

Lexa seems to hold her breath for a beat. Then she sheathes the blade again with a swift, assured motion. A second later it's on the ground, and she's in Clarke's arms.

"Thank you," she breathes again, and clings to Clarke's shoulders like she had to the sword.

“You’re welcome,” Clarke whispers into her hair. She holds Lexa tight, desperate to keep them close now that she’s finally in Clarke’s arms. Despite sleeping together every night, Clarke hasn’t felt Lexa like this in a long time. She nuzzles into the side of Lexa’s neck and breathes in her scent hungrily. Finally, she allows them to separate enough that Clarke is able to tilt her head up and mostly see Lexa’s eyes as she teases, “If I’d known this was going to be the reaction, I would’ve just given you the sword. Tent prep be damned.”

"No, no," Lexa says quickly, and starts to wipe at her eyes with a laugh on her lips. "The tent is part of it! It is all part of it. I have not felt like I fit any of these spaces for so long, and now--"

“Now you have a tent and a cat!” Clarke laughs as Pip sidles up to them and very demandingly shoves her face into Lexa’s side. “You know, she never seems to miss me that much between visits.”

"She missed being able to ruin my things," Lexa answers, and gives Pip the demanded scratches. But Lexa pulls back far enough to look at Clarke fully, and says, "But yes. I have a tent, a cat. And most importantly, a woman who loves me."

Clarke can’t stop herself. Maybe she should, but she’s spent nearly six weeks giving Lexa space - resisting the urge to throw herself at her. The ability to resist finally wears out. She holds either side of Lexa’s face and brings their lips together in a crushing kiss.

Lexa makes a sound as it happens, but it doesn't register as surprise or even as pain. Her hands come up and close around Clarke's, and Clarke recognizes it as an echo of her own sentiments - of need, of fervent desire. She can feel it radiate off of Lexa in waves, and it leaves her skin tingling.

That is, until Lexa leans in just a bit too far, and she makes a sudden gasp of pain instead.

Clarke immediately moves back, the loss of contact is almost physically painful. “We’ll work up to that,” she breathes, and runs a thumb over Lexa’s cheek before finally letting her go. “You’ve had a long day, we should relax.”

"You are not wrong," Lexa admits with a grin that, though honest, is a little tight around the edges. She puts one hand to her side, and uses the other to support her weight while she scoots closer to Clarke. "Though that was worth it."

“Very,” Clarke grins back, scoots closer to close the distance between them. “And I’m glad you like the tent. We may have to set some ground rules...like you can’t be out here all the time or Mom will kill me. She doesn’t know about it and I’d prefer we keep it that way. And Avery - the school teacher - will kill me if we ruin the books. I’m at risk of death by the hands of several women for doing this, basically. But for the most part...” she opens her arms at their surroundings. “It’s yours to do with what you will. Yours and Pip’s, anyway.”

"Oh?" Lexa arches an imperious eyebrow down at the cat. "It must be a package deal, I suppose?"

“She’s not really allowed in Alpha...Mom took one look at her and deemed her too dirty to ever set foot near the clinic. Which is probably fair.” Clarke takes a few pillows out of the footlocker and props them up behind herself. She scoots down on her bedroll and waves her hand at Lexa to lie down beside her. “Come here. We have plenty of time before dinner. Especially if we skip it.”

"You would skip dinner?" Lexa asks incredulously, even as she settles in beside Clarke. With her head on Clarke's shoulder and her hand resting on Clarke's breastbone, they're huddled close but still able to make eye contact. " _You_ , the ambassador? While allied chiefs are here and in need of entertaining?"

“Oh please,” Clarke scoffs. “Helena could entertain herself with only Pike and Pip for company. She has Raven, and I’m sure my mother won’t let Indra out of her sight. Besides, I have a patient to take care of.” She smooths a few strands of hair away from Lexa’s face and tucks them behind her ear. “The world won’t fall apart if I play hooky for one night...” the words come out traitorously uncertain. “I’m mostly sure.”

"Mm. Very convincing," Lexa teases. She pats Clarke's chest with the hand already laying there. "You should go, if you need to. I do not think I could sit up again if you held me, so no need to worry that I'll get up to something I shouldn't."

“I find that strangely unreassuring.” Clarke’s arms wrap a little tighter around Lexa’s torso. “Either way, I’m not going anywhere until I’m satisfied that you’re alright. That you haven’t irreparably damaged yourself somehow just by sitting.”

"Do you hear yourself?" Lexa asks lightly. "Hurt myself? By sitting?"

“You are, in fact, in pain from sitting up straight all day,” Clarke can’t help but point out, “but I see your point. And you handled the stress well today. I’ll...try to remember that. Give you more space.”

"Thank you," Lexa nods, and that hesitation is back. Her fingertips stroke the fabric of Clarke's shirt before she says, "And at the risk of you changing that assessment, you were right to be concerned." Her brow furrows, and Clarke senses a dark mood threatening to overtake her. "All that, and there's still so little I could do."

Clarke draws her fingers along the exposed skin on Lexa's arm, hoping the contact will somehow convey the sympathy she feels better than her words. "It's going to take time. Your hard work will matter, and will save some of that time," — though it won't save _them_ time, Clarke mentally adds with a sigh — "but you can't force recovery, not like this. I know how hard it is to accept that. You've met me, you know I know. But the best you can do is the only thing you _can_ do, and every day your best will get better."

Lexa doesn't respond to that, just ducks her head so Clarke can't see her eyes. They sit in silence for a time, the sound of wind in the trees overhead and Pip pawing around them the only accompaniment to the drift of Clarke's fingers. Then, so quietly that Clarke almost can't understand it, Lexa says, "I'm worried about them."

Clarke doesn't need to ask which "them" Lexa means. Her mind supplies their names immediately: Kita, Ronnie. All the Nightbloods that Lexa has devoted years to training, to preparing for the day they might take her place. Now all of them may die, and there's nothing Clarke or Lexa can do. Nothing that wouldn't dismantle the plan they already so tenuously rely on.

"I am too," Clarke whispers, her voice catching on the last syllable.

"I do not like gambling with their lives when the odds are decidedly against us," Lexa goes on, and though she keeps her face hidden, her hand fists Clarke's shirt. "Even if we can maintain the balance in Polis, there is no guarantee that Roan will not choose to kill them himself. It will mean war, certainly, but it will also solidify his hold on power for a generation. And I do not believe that Nia has as tight a hold on him as Helena seems to think."

"No...she has a collar on him, that's for sure, but he's impulsive. There's no way we can guarantee their safety." 

The risk to the Nightbloods' lives has been a weight on Clarke's mind lately. Not only because there's nothing she can do, but also because it's occurred to her that they're in the dark as well as in danger. There's no way Ronnie or Kita could know that Lexa is alive — that help is coming, that the best thing they can do is lay low and take care of the others. Clarke can't imagine either of them accept Roan. They may even think a new conclave would be the best thing for the Coalition. If Clarke were them, she might think the same. And if she knows Lexa at all, that's exactly what she would do in their position. There has to be a way to avoid that, to give them some kind of indication that it's unnecessary to sacrifice themselves. But how...

Clarke hums her frustration, mulls a thought over in her mind. A thought that's been solidifying over the past two days since Helena's arrival. Though Clarke is increasingly confident it will be met with dismissal, if not outright anger, from Lexa. So she keeps it to herself, and instead says, "They're capable. Because of you and your training, they can take care of themselves. And we'll be there soon. Roan may be a loose cannon, but he doesn't just want violence. He wants power, and if he thinks he can get it he'll take the easiest route. We just have to make sure he sees the light through the trees long enough to keep him from doing something rash."

At a different time, Lexa might have paused to ask exactly what a loose cannon is. That she doesn't so much as prod the unfamiliar phrase is perhaps testament to her preoccupation. "We - _you_ \- must keep the Nightbloods out of sight as much as possible. If they step too close to the center of this, whether of their own devices or ours, they will become a target. He will kill them, or the chiefs will demand a new Conclave - and either way, we will be in dire straits."

That 'you' pierces through Clarke's thoughts and sticks in her heart like a barbed arrow. "I will put a bullet between his eyes before Roan can hurt them, peace be damned." It feels so true that it's almost a kind of relief to voice it. Clarke tilts her shoulder up just enough to force Lexa to look up into her eyes. "I will do everything I can. Everything, I promise. Their involvement does nothing to serve our goal. Helena and Indra know that, and so do Lief and Jada. We'll take care of them, whether they know it's us or not."

Lexa's eyes search hers - for what, Clarke has no idea. But eventually she nods, and loosens her grip on Clarke's shirt. "I believe that you will try," she says, and though the caveat sticks out there is no uncertainty in her voice. "Though I hope it will not come to that. I would prefer having the opportunity to put him down myself. He owes me that."

"It'd really be a lot easier my way," Clarke grumbles.

Lexa tucks her nose against Clarke's neck. "You know it wouldn't."

Clarke nudges her cheek harder against Lexa's hair and curls her arm more possessively around her torso. "I know it wouldn't," she agrees quietly.

"As long as you know it," Lexa hums. "You can say it as much as you like. I will not even correct you, as long as we are on the same page."

“I promise only that I agree with you - I can promise nothing about my actions,” Clarke teases. She kisses Lexa on the top of her head and snuggles further down against the pillows. “Now get some rest, my love. You’ve earned it.”

"There really is something about hearing the trees," Lexa murmurs, her weight settling against Clarke as the tension goes out of her body, "and not the drone of machines..."

For the emotional, mental, and physical toll that the day has placed on her, it isn't long before Lexa drifts off. Clarke feels her head grow heavy against her shoulder, the kind of total dead weight that Lexa can only achieve when unconscious. She closes her eyes as well, listens to the rustle of newly sprouting leaves in the sparse canopy above, and feels herself slip into that strange semi-consciousness of a nap that never quite solidifies into sleep. It's still light outside despite the late afternoon hour, the days lengthening as winter gives way to spring, but her mind refuses to settle. It keeps gnawing away at the idea of Kita and Ronnie taking their fate into their own hands - deciding, for the good of the Coalition, to push for a Conclave before the rest of them can enact their plan.

Clarke manages to cobble maybe two or so hours of sleep together, between anxious thoughts and slowly cementing plans, before finally giving up. Dinner will be underway by now but only just starting - she could make it. But Clarke has other plans for her time.

Lexa stirs as Clarke shifts, her eyelids flutter open and she blinks groggily. “I’m going to take care of a few things,” Clarke whispers. She gently extracts herself from Lexa’s arms and drapes a blanket from the pile over her. “I’ll be back soon.”

Not fully conscious, Lexa murmurs something unintelligible and drifts off again. Her hand stays on Clarke, but with no strength in her fingers to cling to her it falls as Clarke stands. She settles in on Clarke's pillow instead, and just like that is asleep again.

Clarke finds a quiet spot away from the bustle of the dinner and settles in. When she had this idea, it seemed like the most obvious thing in the world. But now, with pen to paper, she can hardly think of what to say. She can't address them by name, and certainly can't sign it - Clarke has to assume that this will fall into the wrong hands and write accordingly. But how will they know it's from her?

The answer, at least for Kita, comes almost immediately. The only thing Clarke has on her at all times, and that Kita would immediately recognize - her knife. Lexa found it in the woods as she was tracking Clarke and her kidnappers, and delivered it back to her almost immediately. To her credit, Clarke thinks. Lexa knows what it means to her, how much more comfortable she feels with it strapped securely to her belt. It hurts to give it up, but it's necessary. Roan has never seen it and Kita will recognize it from their training sessions.

Kita's letter is surprisingly difficult to write. In the end it's short, but Clarke hopes at least somewhat reassuring.

_Hold out and take care of the others. We'll be back. You'll know when._

_P.S. For your slow offhand. Take good care of it - I'll want it back._

It's the best Clarke can do with limited space and words. She writes in Trigedasleng, just for good measure, and slips the small note between the blade and scabbard.

For Ronnie, the words come easily. Her heart aches as she writes, wishing she could say more. Do something other than put words on a page. But at least now they'll both know they aren't alone.

_I wish I could do more than write a letter. Your strength is your heart - don't let him harden it. And don't do or say anything stupid. Take care of yourself and the others. We miss you._

The "we" in this case is a risk. If anyone was somehow able to find out who wrote this letter, any other instance of "we" could easily refer to all of _Skaikru_. But if Ronnie knows her, and he happens to read it the right way...maybe he'll think Lexa is still alive. Maybe he'll think it's at least possible, and that will give him hope. It's the best she can do. The only problem to solve now is how to make sure he knows...

Even as Clarke has this thought, a butterfly lands on a flower next to her hip. Perfect. She snatches it up quickly, caging it in her hand. Killing it, on the other hand, proves surprisingly difficult. She only has her knife and manages to stab herself no less than three times before finally piercing it through the middle. She removes its wings - orange and yellow, shimmery in the light almost like a hologram - and places them inside the folded letter. Quickly, before she forgets, she reopens it and adds a line:

_P.S. Made sure this one couldn't bite you. Too bad it doesn't glow._

There. That's enough clues that only Ronnie could figure it out. At least, Clarke very much hopes that's the case. She folds the note into a little square package, securing the fragile wings inside.

Now she just has to find Helena and convince her to somehow deliver the items to Ronnie and Kita. Without Roan or anyone else noticing, and without telling Lexa. 

To say Clarke isn’t overly hopeful would be putting it mildly, but she has to try.

Dinner has broken up at this point and while warriors bellow drunkenly and _Skaikru_ soldiers open the last few kegs from Helena, the chieftains and council are nowhere to be found. That is, until Clarke searches a little harder, and runs into a pair of women giggling and leaning on each other, half heartedly sneaking around the _Floukru_ tents. One with a beautiful, dark blue flowing dress and the other with a red bomber jacket and leg brace.

"No, no - okay, one more time," she hears Helena say through her giggles. "It's _lukot_. Not--"

"Okay, but you hear how that sounds exactly like the words _look_ and _out,_ right? Like, you speak both languages, can you really not hear it?" Raven pauses in her step as she finishes, and the hand joined with Helena's causes the other woman to spin from her side to stand in front of her. 

"I hadn't before!" Helena laughs, and links her other hand with Raven's as well. "Though now that you say that, I guess a friend would be a look out...is that Clarke?"

"Yeah, hey," Clarke waves awkwardly and jogs to catch up now that she's been spotted. "I'm sorry to interrupt your...whatever this is."

"I think it's called flirting?" Helena ponders innocently. By now Raven has turned around to see Clarke, and Clarke sees her eyes roll.

"And that," she says, indicating Clarke, "is called cockblocking." Then she looks at Helena, a frown of consideration on her face. "Taco-blocking?"

"Please never use that phrase in my presence again." Clarke can't help but grin at the goofy look on Helena's face as she looks at Raven, and almost feels bad enough to reconsider interrupting. Almost. "Helena, can I borrow you for a minute?"

Surprise flashes across Helena's face as her attention returns to Clarke. She glances between her and Raven, reluctance obvious in the way her hands cling to those of the latter. "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing wrong. I just have a favor to ask." Clarke nods at their hands, still locked around each other. "It won't take long, I promise. And then I'll cease...blocking."

Raven wrinkles her nose at that, but the expression dissipates as Helena squeezes her hands. "Go on ahead," she says, and nods back towards the tents. "I'll be right behind you."

That draws a suggestive eyebrow waggle from the engineer. "Promise?"

"Always," Helena winks, and gives Raven's ass a little tap as she turns to go.

"You know, it's strange how you dating my best friend can be both cute and gross," Clarke muses. At the same time she ushers Helena over to a spot at the edge of the tents, away from the lantern light around them. "Is dating the right word?"

"It isn't one of our words," Helena admits with a small shrug. "So I honestly am not sure. But we have made our mutual fondness for each other mutually evident, if that's what you mean. Are you sure everything is alright?"

"Everything's fine, Lexa is fine...I mean it's all as fine as it was yesterday, at least." It's increasingly clear to Clarke that she hadn't quite thought this part through... "After our conversation last night and again this morning, I can't get the Nightbloods out of my head. I can't just sit around and hope nothing will happen to them." Clarke takes the knife from her belt and Ronnie's letter from her pocket. "I know how much I'm asking, but I have to ask anyway - would you bring these to Ronnie and Kita?"

Helena stares down at the knife and paper, and then turns uncertain eyes on Clarke. "You...want me to deliver these to the Nightbloods? In Polis?"

"I want you to attempt to see that they are delivered, yes. I realize how impossible that sounds, and how dangerous. I don't even want to ask, but I feel like I have to. They could die, Helena." Clarke's throat feels thick. She works her jaw a little and clears her throat. "They have no idea that Lexa is alive — that help is coming, that we're working to make sure they don't die tomorrow or the next day."

Comprehension dawns on Helena's face. "They don't know what they're waiting for - that they're even waiting." Her brow furrows. "We have people in the tower still. Servants, people beneath Roan's notice. It would be risky, but..."

"But maybe possible," Clarke nods. "I know it's asking a lot. Of you and even more so of whoever you entrust with it. But even putting my feelings for them aside, they're Nightbloods. Nightbloods trained by Lexa. I can imagine Ronnie happily throwing his life away for the good of the Coalition, because that's what Lexa would do if she were him. And if they push for a new Conclave, that could sway the balance too far in Madi's favor. We can't risk it."

"Then we'll just have to risk this," Helena says. "You make a persuasive case, Clarke. I will send my best courier to Jada, who will at least be able to get it in the building. It may take some time, though."

“It’s worth it to try.” Clarke tips her head to the side, squints suspiciously at Helena. “I admit, that was an easier sell than I thought. You’re not just saying yes so you can get back to Raven’s taco faster, right?”

"Okay, can you explain that to me?" Helena asks earnestly. "I don't know what that means. What is a taco??"

“Um...” Clarke bites her lip. Opens her mouth to reply, then grimaces and tries again. “Tacos are a kind of food. They’re supposed to be delicious...” another grimace. “Which is part of the joke, I’m sure. The important thing is they look like this,” Clarke cups both her hands together to form an elongated, hollow oval.

Helena frowns her confusion. "Well okay, but what does that..." The sentence peters off as the frown gradually becomes widened eyes. "Oh. Because of her - _oh_." Helena's hand flies to her mouth, and behind it she giggles. "Oh that's bad."

Clarke laughs at the amused, even somewhat scandalized look on Helena’s face. “There, see, that reaction is why I told her it was terrible! Only Raven could out-innuendo a pirate queen.”

They both dissolve into giggles and for a few moments it feels like old times. Like the worst they have to fear is a hangover, and not impending doom and loss. Clarke sobers eventually and remembers the reason she’s here in the first place. She holds out the items in her hands for Helena. “The knife is for Kita and the note’s for Ronnie. There’s nothing specific or damning in the letters, but it’s enough that they might pick up on something. It was the best I could do without endangering Lexa, but hopefully it’s enough.”

"She knows them better than anyone. If she thinks it'll work, then I trust both of your judgement," Helena says, and takes both items. As she looks over the knife in her hands, its foreign build that she's held only once before, Clarke realizes that she thinks Lexa's already seen both notes - that Lexa is in on the plan. 

Her stomach squirms when she finds she has no inclination to correct her.

"We'll have to find a way to disguise this - maybe give it a new sheath, so it's less noticeably...Mountain Men-ish," Helena continues, oblivious. She holds the little pocket of paper in the palm of her other hand. "But this should be easily discreet enough. I'll keep you updated."

"Thank you, Helena. For this and for everything." Clarke's hand reaches out to entwine gently with Helena's and gives a small squeeze. "We couldn't do any of this without you."

"Lexa is mine, and you're hers," Helena says warmly, and presses Clarke's hand in return. "Where I come from, you take care of your people."

"Well, you're mine now too," Clarke's lips curl up in a smirk. "I mean you already belong to Lexa, now Raven - even if I didn't like you so much, you'd be family. And speaking of, I doubt Raven will forgive me if I keep you from her for much longer."

"She's impossible, isn't she?" Helena hums, with an altogether different kind of fondness in her voice. "I do quite like that about her. And about Lexa, though for different reasons. I'll see you both before I leave tomorrow, I assume? We missed you both at dinner tonight."

"One of these days I would really love some people in my life who can't be described as 'impossible.' Maybe that's why I like you so much." The cool air blows through the narrow alleys between the tents, inspiring a shiver to creep up Clarke's spine. "Lexa needed some rest after all the activity today, and I didn't have it in me to leave her," she admits and shoves her hands into the pockets of her jeans. "How'd she seem to you, this afternoon?"

"Like she was trying her best not to let on that she was in pain," Helena says wryly. "She wears a convincing mask, and I think Indra sees what she wants to see - perhaps what she _needs_ to see, in this case. But...I know Lexa, and she isn't herself."

"She's not," Clarke agrees, "and I'm not sure how to help her feel more herself without letting her swing a sword around before she's ready. So much of who she is was wrapped up in being Commander. Take that away and you're left with just Lexa, and convincing her that just Lexa is enough feels like trying to persuade a brick wall," _and probably a little hypocritical,_ Clarke thinks with a sigh.

"And yet, when I left Polis after First Fall, you two were firmly in the 'no attachments allowed' camp," Helena answers with a shrug. "Now look at you. If anyone can persuade that brick wall of something, I'm confident it's you."

Lexa is still asleep when Clarke returns that evening, and she clearly hasn't moved much; a few curls stick firmly to her face as Clarke carefully rolls her over to make room for herself. Only a few murmured words in Trigedasleng tell that Lexa wakes up even then. The conversation she just had plays over in Clarke's head as she tries to find sleep, the knowledge that she not-so-inadvertently lied to Helena - and in some ways, will lie to Lexa when she doesn't mention it the following morning - making her stomach squirm. When she does eventually nod off, it's entirely without noticing. She wakes again to sunlight that startles her.

The light isn't what wakes her, however, as she becomes aware of Lexa sitting up and moving. Early to sleep and early to rise, her girlfriend is already carefully pulling on a new shirt in the brisk morning air. Today is the day that Helena will return home, and there's a paleness in Lexa's face that Clarke is sure isn't unrelated.

Clarke stretches and haphazardly shoves her arms through a clean shirt. Or a shirt she thinks is clean - it's hard to tell with everything balled up and tossed without thought into the foot locker. Clarke is sure she'll come back to the tent one of these days to find it all rigidly organized and meticulously folded, but today is not that day.

"Feeling alright?" she asks casually, pretending not to notice the way Lexa grits her teeth as she bends over to tie up her shoelaces.

"Plenty of aches and pains, but nothing out of the ordinary," Lexa answers, prompting Clarke to wonder if the 'ordinary' she meant was before or after the bullet wound. Either way, Lexa needs to pause for rest after tying the first boot. "I thought I would go see Helena, before too much of the city is awake. I know I will have to stay out of sight when she officially departs, but..."

"Of course," Clarke agrees easily, but her chest tightens at the prospect of Helena and Lexa talking alone. Helena could easily tell her about Clarke's messages to Ronnie and Kita, and while she hates lying to them she can't let Lexa get in the way. She'll thank her later - Clarke hopes. "Would you prefer time alone with her? Or would you mind if I came with you?"

Lexa hesitates, her hands pausing with the ties of the other boot mid-bunny ears. "Alone, I think," she ultimately says, and her eyes flash warily up to Clarke's. "Much of my time with her has been discussing the events outside this city, and...it would be good to have some time away from that."

 _Because any conversation I'm involved with inevitably includes politics_ , Clarke thinks bitterly. It stings to hear Lexa say as much - but she's not wrong, is she? Even now, her first concern was of Lexa finding out about her letters to Ronnie and Kita, not the fact that the woman she loves might like a few minutes alone with her closest friend. Clarke swallows her feelings and nods, "Of course." She yanks her belt through the loops on her jeans, a little more forcefully than intended. "I understand. You two need time alone. Just be careful no one sees you."

"I will," Lexa answers, and attempts a faltering smile. It's clear from the look in her eyes that she knows this request wasn't taken well. She holds up Clarke's black sweatshirt by the hood, and attempts levity when she says, "It will be just like sneaking away to the library."

"Well at least one person noticed you that day." The memory brings a small smile to Clarke's lips. Finding Lexa hiding in the shadow of the tower, being shoved unceremoniously against the stone wall when she got too close. Lexa's breath on her skin, their faces close enough that Clarke could see the darker flecks of green in Lexa's eyes. It wasn't so long ago really, and yet it feels like they're a hundred years from that time. From being together without this ever-widening gulf between them that Clarke just can't seem to fill.

"But I was looking for you," Clarke blinks a few times and flips the clasp on her belt closed. Ready for the day, yet again. "I doubt anyone else around here knows you as well as I do," she waggles her eyebrows suggestively, "or is as aware that only _your_ ass could look that way in those jeans."

"I should hope they wouldn't know that, no," Lexa mutters. The pink in her cheeks disappears momentarily as she pulls the sweatshirt on over her head. When it resurfaces, her hair is tucked into the neck and the hood is already on her head, and she doesn't move to fix either. "That would be...most inappropriate."

Clarke chuckles and leans over to kiss Lexa's cheek. "Particularly because you're mine," she purrs against her ear.

"Mm." It's clear Lexa attempts to make the sound a hum, but Clarke can hear the way her voice catches in her throat, can feel the way her jaw tightens. At the very least, she can take satisfaction in knowing she can still make Lexa's stomach flip. "Well - I do not think there's any worry about that." Lexa stands, her body language flustered even as she says wryly, "No one seems to want to be within five feet of me."

Clarke frowns at that. "Do you really think so?" But even as she asks the question, the answer seems obvious. Why wouldn't Lexa think so? She's been cooped up in Alpha for weeks and only recently allowed outside. And even then, half the time she has to sneak around and hide her face. Even with Clarke around as much as possible, Lexa must be lonely.

"Of everyone in Arkadia, only Raven has spoken to me for a reason other than politics or my health. And even then," Lexa wrinkles her nose in disgust, "she called me _Lex_."

Now Clarke really can't help but laugh. "It's a nickname, it means she likes you! It's like when she calls me an asshole, she means it lovingly." She pulls back the opening of their tent, allowing early morning sun to stream into the dim tent. "That's how I've decided to interpret it, anyway."

"That is certainly _a_ way to interpret it," Lexa mutters, and ducks through after Clarke. For a moment she just stands there, eyes closed, and takes in a deep breath of the clean, crisp air. Then she looks at Clarke. "I know that I have a meeting with Abigail scheduled this afternoon, for another set of tests. But perhaps I can see you beforehand, and we can go together? I believe the other clans are all to depart before lunch..."

"I would love that," Clarke takes Lexa's hand and squeezes gently. "I'll find you near the bar after the clans leave. Be safe, alright?"

Lexa smiles. "You too, Clarke."

As Lexa turns to go, Clarke realizes for the second time in as many days...she doesn't have anything to do. There's no early council meeting, no shift at the clinic, nothing. Not until the clans gather to say their goodbyes in a few hours. For a moment she's tempted to go back inside and catch a little more sleep, but it's a fleeting temptation; she's most certainly awake now, and the energy buzzing in her limbs and brain won't let her stay still for long. Instead, she decides to enjoy the quiet beauty of the morning by taking a walk around the city.

As has become the norm for her now, she's awake while most of Arkadia still sleeps. Her feet carry her out of the grove of trees and towards Alpha, making a wide loop around the towering structure that cuts through the firing range and the de facto training field that abuts it. In doing so, she comes across an unexpected sight: Octavia standing to one side of the equipment crates, a serious frown on her face and a locked jaw as she makes intentional, practiced bicep curls with a pair of weights. She wears one of the very pairs of athletic pants Clarke had mentioned to Lexa the previous day, and a roomy long sleeved shirt. Her hair, as always, is tied back into her Grounder braids.

Clarke doesn't intend to be quiet, but Octavia is so focused she isn't sure the younger Blake hears her approach. "I've never seen someone lift weights with quite that much focus," Clarke remarks when she's a few feet away. By the way Octavia's shoulders stiffen at the sound of her voice, Clarke assumes she was indeed too focused on the task at hand to notice her presence. "Though that could be because we were all forced to throw them around in Phys Ed."

"Lucky you. I had to learn from watching old vids and reading stolen books on the subject," Octavia answers. Despite her surprise she hasn't looked around at Clarke, let alone stopped her repetitions. "When I was twelve, Bellamy stole a little set of them for me so I wouldn't waste away in my cupboard under the floorboards."

With a grunt she finishes her set, and only then does she drop the weights and turn to Clarke. "You're here early. And approaching from the wrong direction."

"Observant of you," Clarke remarks, but doesn't bother further explaining. "Mind if I join you? I haven't trained at all since Polis and I have..." she thinks of the stress of the last few days. The last few weeks. She thinks of the growing ache in her chest and, more insistent lately, between her legs. "Pent up energy."

A water bottle sits at Octavia's feet, and she gives Clarke an analyzing side eye as she picks it up and drinks from it. 

"Sure," she says, apparently ultimately satisfied by what she sees. With a tip of her chin, she indicates one of the steel crates that currently sits open. "Grab whatever feels right."

It's been over a month since Clarke exerted herself much more than running around Arkadia and even longer since she used weights. Used to whacking Ronnie with a sword or getting thrown to the ground by Lexa, it takes Clarke a while to figure out which weights are right much less remember the proper way to use them. Thankfully, Octavia proves surprisingly patient. Apparently at ease in her natural element, she corrects Clarke's form and even suggests a few movements Clarke has never heard of. By the end of an hour Clarke has long since abandoned her henley, preferring to endure the ever-warmer sun with just a tank top. And even then, she ends up sweating nearly as much as she used to when Kita was sparring with her.

That means it's a decidedly harried rush over to Alpha to get cleaned up in time to meet everyone after. There is one final event planned before the clans leave: a breakfast designed to fortify them for their journey, and likely to tie off any loose ends as well. By the time Clarke arrives the meal has already started, even though she didn't take the time to dry her hair.

No one seems to notice, though, as Abby and Kane are already engaged with Indra and Helena at what is currently serving to be the head table. Clarke knows that there are last minute details to hash out, but Helena makes no mention of them as she moves to join them. The _Floukru_ chief just smiles warmly and passes her a plate.

Clarke hadn't intended to eat much at this event, thinking she would save her appetite for lunch with Lexa. But after a morning of walking and weight lifting, she's surprisingly hungry. Hungrier than she's been in ages, actually. She makes quick work of the food on her plate, prioritizing eating over conversation, and excuses herself to get seconds. Helena and Kane look amused by her appetite and Indra delivers an imperiously raised eyebrow at one point. Abby looks equal parts exasperated and pleased, which is an odd mix of emotions on a human face. Clarke ignores them all and opts for listening over talking through mouthfuls.

There are some last minute things to discuss, as expected, but no surprises. Abby goes over a list of tasks for all three of their clans in the time between meeting again while Indra and Helena nod along. They discussed all of this with Lexa yesterday, no doubt, and are confident in their positions and the tasks at hand.

When everyone finally rises from their seats and the warriors set about securing supplies and preparing the horses, Clarke follows suit. She trails behind the two chieftains and helps one of Helena's warriors secure two more packs to her horse. Her help is hardly necessary, made more obvious by the fact that she's had less than a year's experience with the concept of saddle bags, but Clarke doesn't want to leave Helena's side until absolutely necessary and just standing there motionless, stoic and Lexa-like, has never been her style.

"I'll be back, you know." Helena's voice, with its ever-present auditory smile, sounds from just over her shoulder. The woman herself stands there, arms folded over her chest.

“Never been good with goodbyes,” Clarke says to the open pack in front of her. She snaps the clasp closed and turns to face her. “I’m more the leave-it-casually-and-run-away-from-the-reality-sort of person, not the face-it-like-a-politician type. Guess I have the wrong job, huh?”

"Everyone knows you're the worst politician in the land," Helena grins. She uncrosses her arms and places one hand on either of Clarke's shoulders. "Take care of yourself. Alright? I'm sure we'll have reason to see each other again soon."

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” Clarke says with a sigh. She covers Helena’s hands with her own, gently removes them from her shoulders with a squeeze. “You take care of yourself. I’ll send updates on our patient when I can. When someone else isn’t hogging the communicator.”

"Please - just take it from her," Helena says with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I know it must be torture to miss me, it's only fair to share the burden."

“Strangely, again, it’s not Raven I’m worried about,” Clarke’s expression softens even as she raises a knowing eyebrow. “As difficult as some of us can be, we at least have each other here. You’re not alone,” she lowers Helena’s hands and squeezes them before letting go, “don’t forget that.”

"I won't," Helena promises, and offers Clarke a soft smile. She steps into Clarke's space and, before Clarke can react, presses a fond kiss to her forehead. "Stay sane," she says, and then taps Clarke's cheek, "and stay alive."

There is less pomp surrounding Indra's departure, as she and her cohort are much more familiar presences. She clasps Clarke's arm in the sort of cool camaraderie that serves as fondness for her, and in words that are less covert than Clarke would like tells her that she is nearby, if Lexa is in need of anything. It's a strange thing, hearing that sentiment from Indra - from someone who is undoubtedly fiercely protective of Lexa, but who also respected her for a strength that she currently doesn't have. Perhaps that's why there's just the slightest shine of desperation in her otherwise sharp brown eyes.

Amidst all of this, there are many others saying their goodbyes. Warriors from _Trikru_ and _Floukru_ wish each other well on the road ahead, and a few burgeoning friendships across Grounder and _Skaikru_ lines are capped with handshakes and farewells. Kane in particular seems to have a number of new friendships, and he departs from them in improving Trigedasleng. There is no Raven, however, and no Lincoln and no Octavia. Bellamy stands off to one side, dressed in his security officer uniform and watching impassively from just behind Pike. Pike looks mostly as though he's being forced to smell something vaguely unpleasant while he watches the departure; an expression mirrored in Jasper's, where he and Monty watch from among the crowd.

But it isn't until the clans are well on their way out, only the last of their trains leaving the fence's gate, that she notices the lone figure standing in the shadow of Alpha Station. Dressed in all black, with a sweatshirt hood pulled up over its head, the figure looks decidedly small.

It pulls at Clarke's heart to see Lexa so isolated - a physical manifestation of what Clarke is sure she's been feeling ever since arriving at Arkadia. Even as she makes her way over to her, Clarke wracks her brain for something more she could do to change that. The reality is that, of course, there isn't. But when has that ever stopped Clarke?

"Hey," she greets Lexa as soon as she's close enough to be heard, "what are you doing over here by yourself?"

"Staying out of sight," Lexa answers with a breeziness that doesn't reach her face. "Wasn't that the order of the morning?"

"It was," Clarke admits. "But not anymore. Should we raid the kitchens and find a good picnic spot?"

A flash of a smile tips Lexa's lips. "I would like that, yes."

Even now, Lexa's smile releases butterflies fluttering through Clarke's stomach. Even when it's a ghost of the genuine smiles Clarke has seen before. One of those, after everything she's been through, might well stop Clarke's heart.

"I'll make us some sandwiches," Clarke offers Lexa her arm and nods her head toward the caf. "Even after all that time I spent with Tera, I think the height of my cooking skills is still the ability to put two things between bread."

"I can boil water," Lexa chirps, ever so helpfully. 

The crowd that had gathered to send off the Grounders disperses rather quickly afterwards, the politicians back inside Alpha to continue their work and the security forces back to their makeshift barracks to talk shit about the Grounders, probably. A not insignificant number of Sky People who do not need to return immediately to work, however, wind their way towards the cafeteria. Lexa keeps her hood up and walks with rounded shoulders as she and Clarke join them, in an effort to make herself smaller and less noticeable. At least, Clarke hopes that's the reason why. Even as she thinks it, she casts her mind back the last few weeks and tries to remember if Lexa walked more often with her back straight or slumped...and finds that she doesn't know. Either way, no one pays her any attention.

She lingers a half step behind Clarke once inside, quietly collecting the items Clarke indicates and carrying them to a corner of the kitchens currently unoccupied. The kitchen staff is busy cleaning up from the remains of breakfast and preparing for the start of lunch, and at any rate is long used to Clarke sneaking in to filch food. None of them give her so much as a second look, and for a moment her throat tightens with memory of Tera and her waving wooden spoon.

They decide to picnic behind Alpha, a few yards out from the edge of the solar panel array that powers the rest of the city. Most of _Skaikru_ gives the array a wide berth, meaning only those who work on it are anywhere nearby. The array also occupies a slight rise in ground level, so Clarke and Lexa are able to settle on the edge of the hill and get a good view of the rest of the city moving below. Not that Lexa seems at all interested in it when they first sit down; her eyes remain glued to the hulking, glittering masses of machinery behind them.

Unsure whether Lexa's fixed attention is a result of curiosity or concern, Clarke watches for any change in her face as she asks, "Didn't Raven tell you how they work?" Lexa glances her way and Clarke nods at the array closest to them. "The solar panels. She wouldn't shut up about them when I first got back."

Though that may have been more to distract her from the very real possibility of Lexa's death rather than any actual obsession, Clarke muses to herself.

"They...work like plants, she said. To create something that all the other machines use to work," Lexa answers with a nod. "That is what she told me - or at least, that is what I understood. But they are still unlike anything I have ever seen." She looks back at Clarke. "She mentioned they were a part of the Ark, once? That you did not build them from scratch."

"Yes she didn't actually invent them, don't let her tell you different." Clarke hands a sandwich over to Lexa and leans back on her hands, leaving her own lunch in the pack for now. "They covered the outside of the Ark when it was still orbiting the Earth. The panels take the sun's rays and turn them into energy, and that energy powered pretty much everything we used. All of the machines keeping us in the air, the filtration system. Even the flow of oxygen."

Once upon a time, Clarke spent hours explaining to Lexa that the higher one goes in the atmosphere, the harder it is to breathe. Like going deep underwater or high up a mountain, the sort of air the human body needs to function becomes more and more scarce. And up where the Ark was, there was simply no air at all. The Commander had been baffled at the time, sitting on the edge of the chair in her tower room, a steaming cup of mulled wine between her hands. Snow fell for most of that night, and no one came to bother them once the sun went down; Lexa was free to bother her for explanation after explanation, metaphor after metaphor until she could wrap her head around even the most basic realities of life on the Ark. Now, she just nods along.

"They are as old as your Ark itself, then," she says meditatively, looking at the gleaming panels again. Clarke takes a moment to consider just how alien they must look to Lexa's eyes, the shimmering dark blue of the photovoltaic cells unlike any shade found in nature. "Built by those who came before the Fires...it is rare to be in the presence of such things."

It's a surprise as memories that haven't bothered Clarke in months flood her mind. Memories of dark hallways, of sterile operating tables and gunmetal grey walls. The Mountain was likely being built around the same time as the Ark, or at least the two structures were built with the same eventuality in mind: what humans would need at the end of the world.

Clarke takes a few deep breaths, her fist clenching around a clump of grass as her mind's eye rids itself of the images flashing across it. "Seems to me like there are relics from that time all around," she says, her voice at least more casual than her thoughts. "Like the tower in Polis - wasn't that here, even after the Fires?"

"I..." Lexa's attention again returns to Clarke, and she blinks a few times before, finally, smiling. "I suppose it was. It has been a regular fixture of my life for so long, I must have forgotten."

"Well it looks a little different now," Clarke grins back, the darkness in her mind entirely consumed by the warmth of Lexa's smile, "but the main structure seems intact. I'm sure there are a lot of examples of that around. Things that Grounders have made their own, that have new life now. I'm surprised we're the only people living in a ruined spaceship, honestly."

"We have not found many of those lying around, to be fair," Lexa answers, and finally lifts her sandwich. "Underground structures yes, but things that fly...?"

"Well you wouldn't know they could fly, I suppose," Clarke muses. "It's strange sometimes, to think of all I used to take for granted. But now here I am, getting made fun of for not knowing how to swim or never having seen a mountain. Or a tall tower, even." She nudges Lexa's shoulder with her own. "You're the important expert here."

Lexa's smile falters. "At least I'm important for something," she mutters, and hides in a bite of her sandwich.

Unfazed by Lexa's tone, Clarke flips around on her butt and lies back on the grass, rests her head on Lexa's legs without asking permission. "You're important for a lot of somethings," she says, more to the sky than Lexa herself. "Like teaching me to swim, apparently. And showing me how to hunt, and introducing me to new books, and showing me where the best _chocow_ is." Clarke glances up into sunlit green eyes, "You're important to me. Besides, I need you. I will tell you right now I am getting nowhere near deep water without you, and possibly not even if you're there."

Before the joke lands, Clarke catches a glimpse of - something - in those eyes. An expression that almost makes Lexa look...surprised? As though this were all somehow news to her. But before Clarke can settle on a meaning behind the look, it's replaced with a warm amusement in Lexa's eyes that seems brighter than the sunlight in them.

"I will drop you in, if I need to," she answers, and brushes a strand of hair off Clarke's forehead with the tips of her fingers. "I may not be much to look at now, but one day I will be strong enough again to pick you up. And on that day, I will unceremoniously dump you in a river if you - what's the phrase? - chicken out."

"What are you talking about, not much to look at? Do you not notice the way I look at you every time you take off a shirt?" Clarke frowns, affects a mock seriousness. "And if you ever pick me up and throw me in a river, I will both physically harm you and seriously reconsider this whole arrangement. Consider yourself warned."

"Duly noted," Lexa answers, in a tone that suggests it was not noted at all, and takes a bite of her sandwich.

The afternoon passes so quickly, Clarke almost can't believe it. No one comes looking for her and for once Clarke is content to have nothing to do. She and Lexa spend another several hours up on the hill, discussing what feels like every topic available to them (except politics, which they both seem relieved to avoid). 

After nearly an hour of Clarke attempting to explain world history before the Ark left Earth, she throws up her hands in exhaustion and declares that only Avery could possibly keep up with Lexa's curiosity. Or know enough to satisfy it, at any rate. Avery was Clarke's teacher on the Ark and has been managing the comparatively small remaining library in Arkadia, and the continued education of _Skaikru_ 's youngest generation. Clarke can't quite believe she never considered the connection before - obviously Lexa would enjoy learning and burying her nose in Avery's cursed textbooks (Clarke was never known for being studious). Not to mention it's a decidedly safe activity, all things considered.

Eventually, they make their way back to Alpha and Clarke shows Lexa the way to Avery's library. It's really more of a study than a library, there are so few books and files left, but the teacher guards them as if they were the most valuable thing in the city. And, Clarke thinks, a good argument could be made that she's right.

Avery is of course there to greet them. She seems skeptical at first, but as soon as Lexa starts asking questions about the American Civil War, Avery perks right up. They quickly negotiate a sort of schedule for Lexa - an abbreviated history course that Avery will oversee. Lexa even manages to get the librarian to let her take the textbooks out of the library, which is so unbelievable to Clarke that she fully misses at least two minutes of conversation directed at her.

Even the sadness of Helena's departure doesn't quite change it - today was a good day. Maybe the first good day since they left Polis, in Clarke's estimation. Lexa finagles a book for Clarke as well, and the two of them scrounge up enough food to count as dinner before heading back to the tent. _Their_ tent. Sitting side by side, reading quietly in the dim light of a solar lantern, snacking on dried fruits and crusty bread. It almost feels like being back in Polis. Maybe even better - with Lexa beside her, Pip snoozing in her lap, and nothing immediately trying to murder any of them. It feels like home.

Of course, the feeling doesn't last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 😬


	7. Like Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, dear readers: things get a little...rough in these next few chapters. We're going to see Clexa get worse before they can get better - but Clexa remains endgame, don't you worry.
> 
> I'm not sure how to succinctly put the TW for this chapter, but Lexa has some mental anguish re: her injury and recovery.

Two days later, Lexa wakes early as always. Clarke rubs her eyes and rolls over with a yawn, reaches for her pants - and stops when she sees the look on Lexa's face. A familiar expression with equal parts nerve and resolution. That's never a good sign.

"Everything okay?" Clarke asks through another yawn. She tries to gently move Pip from where she's still snoozing between her legs, but the cat squeaks in annoyance at the intrusion and jumps away. "You're looking at me in that way you do. Like you're about to say something you know I won't like."

"I want to begin training," Lexa answers — and sure enough, Clarke doesn't like it.

"Lexa, you can't start training. You can barely swing your own sword." Clarke can feel Lexa's glare on her back at that. She doesn't turn around but yanks her pants up and buttons them. "I know that's frustrating, but you have to build your strength back up first."

"Then I will build my strength back up first," Lexa answers adamantly, with all the give of a brick wall. "The therapy your mother devised was meant to get me walking again, able to feed myself and dress myself. I am capable of all those things, and so it has nothing left to teach me. Let me train."

Clarke takes her time hunting for the 'right' shirt, all the while throwing out innumerable mental curses. Why shouldn't Lexa begin building her strength? Regardless of what she'll use that strength, for she needs it, and Clarke can't keep her cooped up in this tent forever. She glances at Lexa's sword, placed against one of the tent poles in the corner. As long as it isn't with that...

"Okay, fine," Clarke sighs. "I agree you should start training, enough to get used to the exercise again. But no fighting or sparring, or anything that involves strenuous and unpredictable movement. Weight training and stretching, that's it."

"And running," says Lexa, and there's a painful desperation in her voice that doesn't sound like it belongs in her mouth. It's the tone of a teenager so close to getting what they wanted from their parent. "Please, Clarke - I won't overdo it, you can trust me. But I need to be able to move again. I fear I will explode if I do not."

Clarke sighs again, but she can't say no. Not when one word from her is all that stands in the way of Lexa's happiness. Still, it's with effort that she says, "Fine, and running. But please be careful. Please."

"I will be." 

She hears Lexa move behind her, and thought for certain the other woman would've been off like a shot the second she had a go ahead. Instead she moves closer, and Clarke turns to see Lexa step directly into her space. Hands that should be far more callused than they are close on either side of Clarke's face, and Lexa gives her a fast, hard kiss.

"Thank you, Clarke," she says, and then bolts through the door.

Clarke can't help but chuckle and shake her head as the flap to the tent swings aggressively from the sudden movement. Pip hops away with an angry _mrow_ and curls around Clarke's legs, a low grumble audible in the depths of her chest.

"She's just excited," Clarke explains aloud, as if the cat can understand her. "We'll be more relaxed later, I promise." 

Pip doesn't make any indication that she's heard Clarke, but she does prowl off into the corner and kneed a Pip-sized hole into a blanket. It's strange how easily Clarke has adjusted to having her around all the time. With the tent situated close to the woods, Pip doesn't have far to go to find her natural habitat and she spends almost every evening now in the tent with them. It's kind of nice. Clarke can see why people kept pets before the war. It's comforting to have another body living and breathing beside you, even if they don't understand a word you say. Sometimes _because_ they don't.

Whatever improvements Lexa might have anticipated to her mood, they don't materialize over the following days. 

First she made the mistake of failing to ensure the gun range was inactive when she went to the neighboring field to train, which meant that Clarke returned to the tent one morning to find her curled up and sweating in one corner, her eyes blown out and breathing panicked. Though it didn't take her long to coax Lexa out of it, the latter spent the entire rest of the day avoiding her eyes. Clarke could catch only glimpses of expression whenever she looked at her, and every time it was some level of embarrassment or shame. Though her heart ached, her temper also rose; it's difficult to keep her mood in check when every attempt at solace is turned away.

The next morning Lexa left earlier, and this time Clarke went with her. Shame had hardened into something like resentment, and Lexa reminded her curtly - several times - that she didn't need a chaperone. Clarke was met with that same cold wall when she suggested that Octavia guide Lexa through some exercises. Which was doubly annoying, because after the previous day's episode Clarke had already talked to Octavia and gotten her to agree to help. When Lexa sent that idea crashing and burning, the younger Blake just looked at Clarke and shrugged her shoulders. Octavia would be around to make sure she didn't hurt herself, at least.

When not in training, Lexa took to inhabiting Arkadia like a kicked dog that was afraid of being kicked again. It was clear her body wasn't living up to her expectations; she would return from training sweating and straining and angry at herself for only managing a few laps before collapsing to one knee, and nothing Clarke could tell her would rationalize that anger away. Whenever she tried, Lexa would dismiss her words outright or disappear into a session with Avery where Clarke's words couldn't reach her.

Several more days go by in a similar fashion. Clarke is tempted at least twice to make excuses to stay in Alpha, but manages to overcome the notion. It won't help anything to shut Lexa out, no matter how she's acting. At least, that's what Clarke keeps telling herself as she endures night after night of the cold shoulder.

One morning, nearly a week after Lexa began her training, something strange happens - Lexa isn't what wakes Clarke up. There are voices, rising from the direction of Alpha and skittering in and out of earshot. It sounds a lot like panic, which is strange in itself. There's been no warning alarm, no telltale pounding of earth signifying large squads of soldiers moving.

Lexa has clearly noticed the commotion as well. Clarke is out of the tent faster, but with Lexa close on her heels. The commotion is quite clearly coming from the front gate - it's far enough away that Clarke can't know what's causing it, but that's where people seem to be congregating.

There are mixes of excitement and trepidation on the faces of those they pass, all headed in the same direction. Voices muttering together: "What is it?" "It can't be." "Is it dangerous?" "A dog?" "Can't they just shoot it?" At the sound of the last one, Lexa begins walking faster.

Sure enough, when they push to the front of the small crowd that's gathered by the gate, it's to see a handful of armored guards warily watching a standoff between man and beast. 

A crew of engineers had been making updates to the section of fencing that directly abuts the gate that morning, and have now frozen in place at the sight of a dog. An honest to God _dog_. It looks a little like the wolves Clarke's seen pictured in textbooks, with a narrow snout and pricked, pointed ears, but its body - probably tall enough that its back would be level with her thigh - is covered in fur that shifts from brown to black in the light. Its tail is thin, and even now is held close to its body, its ears flattened, its head angled close to the ground. Clarke has only ever seen a dog twice, and even then neither of them looked much like this one. But there is something about the way the dog holds itself that makes her think there's something wrong with its back leg.

"What are they doing?" Lexa hisses, drawing Clarke's attention back to the construction crew. While most remain huddled by the fence, one of them has stepped forward towards the dog. She walks towards it at a normal pace even as the dog shrinks away, and emits a sound like something getting stuck in a motor. The worker stretches a hand out towards the dog, only for it to snap its jaws right at her fingers.

Things happen very quickly after that. A chorus of surprised shouts and startled screams go up as the engineer throws herself backwards, the dog barking loudly at her as she scrambles away on her hands. The security officers all raise their weapons, rifle stocks pressing to shoulders as they draw a bead on the dog - but Lexa is already moving.

" _Stop!"_ She roars in a voice Clarke hasn't heard in months - one that demands every body and rock in the vicinity to do as it bids. Grown men and women who were never her subjects, who don't even know who she is, freeze in place and turn to look at her. By the time Clarke's brain catches up with what's happening, Lexa is already running through the gate.

"Le-- _fuck,"_ Clarke swears, physically biting her own tongue to keep the rest of Lexa's name from passing her lips. "Lower your weapons!" she hollers at the soldiers around her. One of them with an official-looking patch on his arm that seemingly marks him as in charge, a few paces off to her right, looks at her incredulously. Clarke glares back and growls, "Lower. Your. Weapons. _Now_."

The other security officers look at him, and he looks at them. Then, apparently deciding that arguing with her was not going to be worth it, he lowers his rifle and the others follow suit.

Lexa is already on the other side of the gate. "Get away from him," she snaps at the engineers, who shrink back. "Get back inside."

Clarke may not understand dogs, but she's seen enough fucked up animals in this hellscape of an earth to know there's a more than even chance this thing is at least radioactive. If not about to actively try to murder them.

"What are you doing? Le--shit!" she barks at Lexa's back. They really need to come up with a cover name for her. Clarke follows behind her, comfortable with the distance between herself and the dog for now - much less comfortable with the strange determination on Lexa's face. "Stop!"

"I will _not_ let them shoot that dog," Lexa tells her adamantly, and certainly doesn't stop. "He's just scared - and look, injured. He doesn't look like he's eaten in days."

Lexa does slow down as they near the dog, who has maintained a low, steady growl as they approached. When they're close enough that the growl gets louder, she sinks to one knee and indicates for Clarke to do the same.

"Give me your breakfast," she says, meeting Clarke's eyes for what feels like the first time that morning.

"I'm not giving you food for it, it's a wild animal!" Even as Clarke says this, her hand traitorously strays to the pocket of her jacket where she'd stashed away a sandwich.

"He's no different from Pip when you found her," Lexa says as she takes it. Clarke resists pointing out that Pip was not injured, not starving, not half the size of her, and not an animal running wild in the forest as Lexa takes the sandwich apart. 

"Just stay still," she says, and tosses a chunk of bread torn from the sandwich at the dog's feet.

“Okay, so it - he - can have my sandwich, fine,” Clarke watches warily as the dog sniffs at the bread. Inches closer. Distrust reflected in its eyes. “But it’s a wild animal. An _injured_ wild animal. I may be from outer space but even I know that makes animals unpredictable.” _Humans as well,_ she thinks to herself, and huffs aloud.

"Unlike cats," Lexa says, the weight of an old complaint heavy in her voice. Her eyes don't stray from the dog however, who, apparently having decided the bread is okay to eat, has snapped it up. "Dogs can be trained. Even wild ones have the capacity in them somewhere. So we take our time. We be patient, give him what he needs, let him feel safe."

“Lexa,” Clarke still whispers the name, even this far out of earshot from the soldiers, “why would we train it? Even if we could, why risk it?”

"Because even broken things have value!" Lexa snaps suddenly, rounding on Clarke. Then she blinks a few times and, just as suddenly, turns away to hide her embarrassment. The dog, who had stopped growling, begins again at the outburst. " _Fok_."

Clarke is so surprised by Lexa’s sudden anger that she finds herself unable to speak. By the time she regains the function, Lexa has already fed the dog over half her sandwich - and is inching closer to it, hand held out non-threateningly.

“This is dangerous,” Clarke warns, but the fight isn’t quite in her voice anymore. “Dangerous and unnecessary. Not to mention I’ll have to explain why there’s a dog running around the city...” she sighs, runs a hand through her hair in frustration. “Can you _please_ be careful?”

Half the city seems to be watching, even now - though in reality it's probably more like two dozen. The gleam of the guns makes the group seem that much larger.

"I will be," Lexa promises, and doesn't look away from the dog. "I always am."

It takes another half hour, at least; the dog stops trembling, and the crowd mostly drifts away, but eventually Lexa holds out a scrap of bacon on the flat of her hand and the dog laps it up. Clarke has to clear everyone from the gate before the dog comes near it, and it requires another chunk of food to get it through to the copse of trees behind Alpha. But by then the aggression has faded to fear, and that fear responds well to Lexa. At the very least, she doesn't seem to be in imminent danger of having her hand chewed off.

“I draw the line at the dog being in the tent.” Clarke eyes the dog. Keeps a ten foot pace at all times from the dog. Feels increasingly suspicious of and strangely jealous of the dog. “Pip is not going to like him.”

Thankfully, the cat is nowhere yet to be seen. The last thing they need is to have two suspicious, aggressive animals in the vicinity.

"That...is likely true." With that realization, it becomes completely evident that Lexa hadn't thought this far ahead. "I can build him a shelter nearby. He should have a place of his own, anyway. Somewhere he can feel safe."

Clarke opens her mouth with every intention of hissing out " _build him a shelter?!"_ before thinking better of it. Instead she takes a deep breath, pinches the bridge of her nose...and feels so much like her mother she forces herself to stop that, too.

"We need rules," is what she ultimately lands on. "Like no dog in the tent. And no dog anywhere without you - or me," she adds, grudgingly. "And you are going to convince me of all the reasons why we should allow a wild dog in our city so that I can convince my mother."

Lexa does at least seem to give this a proper moment of thought. More words - what the hell was she thinking? Why would she even do this? - threaten to spill over Clarke’s lips but she bites her tongue. Then Lexa says, "Your people have been learning how to hunt, yes?"

"Yes, of course," Clarke gestures generally in the direction of the woods. "We have to. Why?"

"Dogs can be trained to hunt," Lexa answers, as though that were the easiest thing in the world. "They can serve many purposes - trained for war, for protection, for companionship - but hunting is chief among them. A dog's nose can track prey far better than a human's eyes."

"I was under the impression 'companionship' was not an acceptable reason to keep a pet, in your opinion," Clarke raises an eyebrow. "And you can't teach him to hunt, at least not anything more than a squirrel. You can't go outside the fence."

The dog is still looking around suspiciously, but it keeps close to Lexa. Even now, he's standing just a foot or so behind her, seeming about as uncomfortable as Clarke feels. And Lexa has positioned herself squarely between them - as if she knows it's scared of Clarke. As if she's worried Clarke will take the dog away from her.

Lexa's eyes bore into Clarke's, resolute but still with the slightest bit of desperation. It's entirely clear to Clarke that Lexa has no idea what she's doing, but it's also clear that for whatever reason, she's decided she needs this. Needs a _dog,_ of all things.

Clarke shakes her head, sighs for what feels like the fifteenth time this morning. "Alright. I'll tell the council. If dogs can help us with work in the city and hunting then I may be able to convince them, but I can't make any promises. Even if I do, you'll have to demonstrate not only that it can be useful, but also show us how to train them ourselves. And in the meantime, it's not going anywhere with that leg." As if it understands her, the dog emits a low whine and hops a little on its uninjured back paw.

A swell of relief spills over Lexa's body, her shoulders relaxing, her stance becoming immediately less confrontational. But at Clarke's mention of the injury, she raises an eyebrow. "Are you offering?"

Clarke spares a glare for Lexa before turning her attention fully to the dog. The way it favors its other limbs, the slight twist where paw meets leg. She crouches low, getting no closer physically but giving herself a better angle to observe it.

"If you're asking me to sell the idea that this thing will be useful to my mother, then we'll have to fix it. I'm not a veterinarian" - Lexa's face, Clarke is sure, contorts in confusion at the word - "but I'm probably the best you've got. I'll at least need to give him some antibacterial medication, assuming it isn't already infected. And I may have to set it. It doesn't look broken, but I can't know that unless I'm able to examine it."

Perhaps something buried deep in Clarke's body language betrayed the need to be closer, or perhaps the dog understood English better than she was given most dogs to be capable of. Either way, the dog gives a low, more-scared-than-threatening growl and shifts its weight away from Clarke. 

"We will need to work up to that," Lexa says unnecessarily, looking first at the dog and then at Clarke, "and that will likely require more food."

"I'll get more," Clarke stands back up, slowly, eyeing the dog as she goes, "and grab some antiseptic and bandages. He's going to be useless if an infection gets into that leg. I could show you how to treat and wrap it," she offers. The not-so-surprising comparison Lexa seems to be drawing between herself and the dog gives Clarke the idea. Perhaps Lexa would like fixing him up herself - under supervision, obviously. If Clarke is sure of anything, it's that Lexa is the opposite of a natural healer. "If he won't let me do it, maybe he'll let you."

That thought had clearly not occurred to Lexa yet, and her eyes light up with a cautious curiosity. "Alright," she nods. "I will stay with him. There is a place a little over that way that might suit him better - I will see if I can get him there."

In the time it takes Clarke to retrieve more food - scraps left over from breakfast this time, not entire meals of her own - and return, Lexa has cleared a space a stone's throw from the tent. Still very much in the shelter of the trees and away from the noise of the city, it seems as ideal a place for the dog as any they're likely to find. Over the next few days, Lexa spends much of her time in that small clearing, barely two yards across at the widest. She builds a small shelter by lashing together a few low-hanging branches, and clears the floor of as much brush as she can. The dog never quite lets Clarke touch it - _him,_ Lexa emphasizes - but he does allow her to squat within a few inches of him before long. From there she's able to instruct Lexa in examining the wound, a process which gets Lexa's fingers snapped at more than once. Her own injury may not let her run or lift things like she used to, but her reflexes are at least still strong.

Though Clarke is certain the thing will take off at first opportunity, running around and terrorizing Arkadia (and probably itself), he proves to be decidedly docile in that time. He spends most of his time huddled under his shelter with one of Lexa's spare blankets, unwilling or unable to venture farther than the edge of the clearing. Not that he would have much reason to, ultimately; Lexa brings him food regularly enough that he doesn't have to go snooping for it. 

"He needs a name," Lexa says one night, apropos of nothing. She sits with her back propped up against the footlocker, legs stretched lengthwise across the tent and thighs laying over Clarke's shins. They'd both been reading, Lexa with her book of poetry and Clarke in her bedroll with the day's reports, when her announcement breaks the silence.

“I assume you mean the dog,” Clarke says without looking up from the paper in front of her. Yet more troops from _Azgeda_ gathering on the border. “Did you have something in mind?”

"No..." Lexa shifts her legs, and Clarke can feel her eyes on her. "But that is, I suppose, the problem. A dog needs to understand commands if it is to be trained, and in order to understand commands it has to know it is being commanded. He needs a name."

As if sensing the topic of conversation, Pip sits up and prowls around in a circle. “Then we should name him,” Clarke agrees, as Pip mushes Clarke’s thigh with her paws and then curls up tighter against her side in a way that seems suspiciously possessive. 

Clarke shakes her head fondly and scratches her behind the ears. “You should name him,” she looks up to meet Lexa’s green eyes. “What’s a good name for a dog?”

"I...do not know," Lexa says simply. Clarke looks up to see her green eyes lost in the middle distance, looking decidedly baffled by the idea of a name. Then those eyes return to the book of poetry, and the topic is dropped.

Which leaves Clarke all the more surprised when she returns to their copse of trees to hear Lexa's voice sounding through the silence. She'd intended to just make a quick stop - a moment to drop off her jacket, overwhelming in the heat of the spring day - but pauses in her tracks at the sound. With eyebrow raised she slides into a crouch, a position she hasn't made use of in months but feels familiar nonetheless. She creeps across the sparse forest floor towards the dog's clearing.

Lexa leans against the foot of a tree on one side of said clearing, reading out loud from a book propped up against one knee ("and there will be time, and there will be time,") while the dog chews on a stick on the other side. As Clarke sneaks up, however, the dog leaves off chewing on the stick in favor of scratching at the collar Lexa has managed to get around his neck, prompting the latter to yell: "Alfred! _Hod yu op!"_

The dog, somewhat miraculously, actually stops scratching. He looks at Lexa with a quizzical sort of turn to his head, and then lowers his snout to rest back on his front paws. All of which would be interesting in itself, but Clarke can hardly focus on it. Instead she straightens up, walks right into the clearing - alarming both the dog and Lexa - and says in utter disbelief, "You named the dog _Alfred?"_

Lexa's mouth pops open immediately, but she flounders for a response. Pink spreads over her cheeks as her mouth moves silently before, "I'm trying it out!"

"Yeah, but _Alfred?"_ Clarke laughs as the red moves up into Lexa's ears. "Haven't you ever named a dog? I thought they had names like Spot or Rover or something."

Now it's Lexa's turn to give an incredulous look. "Spot? Why on earth would you name a dog spot?"

"Why on earth would you _name a dog Alfred?"_ Clarke counters. The dog - Alfred - is looking at her with less scared and more curious eyes now. She crouches down again next to him, lets him get used to her presence. Give her boots a sniff. "That's the kind of name I'd expect Jane Austen to give to, I don't know, a butler or something. Not a dog." Clarke reaches out a tentative hand and the dog doesn't recoil. He sniffs it, wriggles his wet nose. "I like Alfie though. You don't mind if I call you Alfie, do you?"

"I certainly do," Lexa protests, as Clarke knew she would. It makes her grin to hear the righteous indignation in her girlfriend's voice. "His name is Alfred.”

Alfred licks Clarke's hand and she consciously stops herself from recoiling. It's not the most pleasant sensation, but Lexa has told her that it means he's comfortable with her, so she allows it. Apparently satisfied, he returns his head to lay on the front of his paws and doesn't seem bothered by Clarke's tentative scratches up and down his back. "I don't know, that seemed like a yes to me." Clarke tries to keep a serious tone to her voice but can't quite sell it through her smile. "He's never let me pet him like this before, what else could it mean?"

"That you had something left on your hands from lunch," Lexa answers, and grunts softly as she hauls herself to her feet. A few seconds later, Clarke has an open book held pointedly in front of her face. "And anyway, he is named Alfred for a reason."

She reads the title of the poem being shown her. _The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock._

"Of course, you named him after a poem." 

It's not even a question, because _of course_ Lexa named the dog after a poem. It's tempting to laugh, and a chuckle does thrum quietly through Clarke's chest - but it's also strangely comforting. So few people know this Lexa. The Lexa that loves nothing more than sitting quietly and reading, the Lexa that would recite poetry for a scared dog to calm it. The Lexa that would name that exact dog after a character in a poem, written by a man who died centuries ago and whose life has to be as far from her own as could possibly be imagined. It's all so achingly adorable and so absolutely _Lexa_ that Clarke would have an easier time teaching herself conversational Latin than be surprised by any of this.

She sits back on her haunches and leans into Lexa's torso, careful not to put too much of her weight on the other woman. Lexa's jaw is the closest available kissable surface and Clarke happily presses her lips to the underside of it. "It's ridiculous, but that somehow seems to fit."

"It is a poem that has always meant much to me," Lexa says, which is something Clarke knows. "It...is also the poem we were reading together the night that I was injured." Which is something Clarke had intentionally forgotten.

"Mmmm." The feeling of happiness that had so quickly welled inside her a moment ago just as easily chills in the pit of her stomach. Even though what she'd feared at the time never came to pass, Lexa was still hurt. Clarke still almost lost her - and after all that, she'll just have to endure it all again. Will still have to find a way to pass the time the day before her entire world could come crumbling down around her. Will still have to sleep beside Lexa one last night before she may never get the chance to again.

"Well, maybe every time I say his name now it will replace some of that memory," Clarke thinks - wishes, really - aloud. The dog looks up again now that both of them are hovered over him. "You know now that he's all cleaned up, he's actually kind of cute. Aren't you, Alfie?"

At the sound of his name, Alfie's tail begins to wag slowly from side to side — Clarke is sure much to Lexa's annoyance.

The other woman fails to stifle a groan. "Please do not teach that name to him," she complains - though it would appear from the dog's attention that she's already too late.

"Why not? He loves it." Clarke laughs as Alfie's tail starts to wag even harder. Despite having no idea why he's receiving attention, he clearly appreciates it. "And you love me," she kisses Lexa's cheek again before finally standing back up herself. "So does he know how to do anything yet? Besides respond to his new name?"

"He seems to at least understand that 'stop' means something," Lexa mutters. She gives Alfred a scratch behind the ear before standing as well. "It can be difficult to teach him anything more complex when he doesn't understand his name yet. But he is adjusting to his collar, which means I will be able to tie him down soon. I fear he will not be content to sit here by himself all day once his leg is better, and it would not be safe for him to roam the city before he understands basic commands."

"Well I have a feeling he won't go far without you," Clarke raises an eyebrow as Alfie instantly demonstrates this assumption to be true by standing the moment Lexa does and moving to her side. "As long as you are confident you can keep him with you at all times and that he'll obey you, I'm sure you can take him around the city. Just be aware that you might have to stop some more curious folks from trying to pet him. Some people might be excited to see a dog, but none of us grew up around them. I'm not sure they'd know how to approach him, particularly the kids."

"Noted," Lexa says with a nod. But her head is already bent, eyes on Alfie's; he blinks back up at her, as though he's waiting to see what she'll do. "He will need his own time to adjust to these new surroundings, as fear can motivate his behavior just as well as it can motivate ours. But he has not shown himself to be particularly aggressive as of yet."

"You were probably right about him just being scared, then," Clarke watches this exchange between her girlfriend and what is very quickly proving itself to be her girlfriend's dog, both amused and bewildered. "At least we're able to process pain. I'm not an expert, obviously, but most animals don't have the ability to understand what they're experiencing, only the ability to experience it. Being attacked would be all the more viscerally frightening."

Lexa just nods again, her eyes still trained on Alfie. She seems hesitant to move, and it occurs to Clarke only then that it's possible that she found this small clearing in an effort to be alone. Away from everyone — including Clarke. "Um, I should go, I still have rounds with Eric. I'll bring some new bandages for him later, though," and she squints again at the bandage still wrapped around Alfie's leg. "I'm really hoping it's a bad sprain and not a break."

"He is certainly still favoring his other legs, but seems willing to put more weight on the hurt one now that it's reinforced," Lexa answers, and at last looks up at Clarke again. She shrugs one shoulder, and doesn't seem inclined to stop Clarke from going. "For what that may be worth."

This time when Clarke smiles, it's the littlest bit forced. "Good, I'm glad to hear it. I'll see you both later, then."

Days go by. Clarke doesn't bother to count them, but she doesn't need to - every day seems like it brings something new. Some new report, a new patient, a new problem that needs solving. And another day of Lexa seeming to slip further and further away from her. 

So it's actually exactly three days later that Clarke decides she's had enough. Or at least, enough to do something more than just try to coax Lexa into a longer conversation than a litany of what they both achieved that day. Clarke has been training on and off with Octavia in the mornings, but now makes a habit of going every day. Not only does it allow her to keep an eye on Lexa and join her for her morning exercise, but it's also good for Clarke. Muscles she didn't even know she had have apparently gotten much weaker in the weeks between leaving Polis and now. It's gratifying to work them again, and Octavia continues to prove herself a helpful, if quiet, workout partner.

This also allows Clarke the opportunity to invite Lexa to lunch with her friends nearly every day. If Raven is working on something particularly interesting that she wants Clarke to see, she invites Lexa along. If Bellamy wants to get everyone together for a night of debauchery at the bar, Clarke always makes sure to extend the invitation to Lexa. It's obvious that Lexa is lonely, that much is abundantly clear, but she always says no. Every single time she declines Clarke's offer to spend time with people. Unless Clarke explicitly tells her that it will just be the two of them, Lexa always has some reason to be absent. And even then, sometimes she prefers to be completely alone. 

Except for Alfie, of course. Lexa spends more and more time with the dog, training it and teaching it commands. It clearly brings her a sense of peace, being with him, but Clarke can't help the spark of jealousy that flairs in her gut every time Lexa chooses spending time with a dog over her.

The whole situation baffles Clarke, to the point where her friends begin to notice. They don't say much, but offhand comments and weighted looks give her the distinct impression that they're worried. And worse, pitying her. It grates, and the matter isn't helped when, a week later, Clarke receives word that supply trains traveling secretly through Blue Cliff are not only not-so-secret, but are being attacked.

They aren't their supply trains, thankfully — apparently _Azgeda_ and their allies are attempting to smuggle supplies, mainly from Glowing Forest up into Polis. The Rock Line clan would be a sensible route to take, given that they are also an ally, but what was once the Mississippi River lies in Blue Cliff territory and would cut the journey time down by more than half. And apparently Roan and Nia don't want to wait.

It would be good news, if they were trying to tip the scales in their own favor instead of keeping them balanced. Blue Cliff is understandably enraged by the smugglers and infiltration of their territory, and it's only renewed their ferocity when it comes to pushing for a new conclave. Helena reports that things haven't taken a turn - yet. She uses that word, _yet_. Clarke knows that Helena would tell her honestly if she were concerned, but the threat to the Nightbloods is put yet again in stark relief. Yet another reminder that time is very much not on their side.

Clarke keeps the news to herself, even when Lexa asks specifically what happened in the council meeting that evening. The former Commander rolls into their tent every night looking exhausted and anywhere from despondent to downright furious. Clarke knows the weight of time is on her shoulders, and there's nothing to be gained by reminding her of that fact with reports. Ultimately, the report changes nothing. Lexa still needs time, and they'll still find a way to give it to her. So she doesn't tell her.

That doesn't mean that Lexa is particularly happy with the situation. It was clear when Helena and Indra were here that Lexa did not agree with Clarke's attempts to keep her at a distance from the political goings-on outside of Arkadia's walls. Whenever Lexa asks for an update and is met with only mundane news, she never pushes for more, never accuses Clarke of keeping things from her - but there is a current of negative emotion beneath that silence. It feels dangerously like resentment, and it widens the gulf between them even more.

Given Lexa's proclivity for foul moods and isolation, it is then all the more surprising when, one morning, she traverses the several yards she always keeps between her training space and the space Clarke and Octavia share. Imagine Clarke's irritation then, when Lexa goes not to her but to Octavia, and says: "Octavia. Apologies for interrupting, but I am in need of a sparring partner."

“You know, you did teach me to fight yourself,” Clarke can’t help but roll her eyes, barely even tries to stop. “Or at least, yourself by extension.”

The look of surprise that crosses Lexa's face has little to do, Clarke quickly realizes, with the facts she just pointed out. Rather, it has everything to do with, "I assumed you would object out of hand to the idea of me sparring anyone."

Clarke is taken aback by that for exactly three seconds. Long enough to realize the trap she’s just set for herself, and long enough to muster the retort, “If you were so concerned about my objection, you wouldn’t have asked Octavia right in front of me.”

"I had little choice, it turns out, as you were right in front of Octavia," Lexa answers shortly. 

It was in the midst of this flurry of subclauses that Octavia looks from one to the other and promptly fucks off.

 _Well that seems about right,_ Clarke thinks at Octavia’s back. 

When she turns back to Lexa, it’s to meet a decidedly odd expression. Unhappy, maybe? But with something else...it couldn’t be nerves, but Clarke can’t think of a better descriptor. “Seems I’m the only option left to you.” Clarke closes her eyes for a long moment, forcing herself to overcome her own anxieties in order to ask, “Do you still need a partner?”

Lexa's jaw is set. "Will you provide a willing one?"

"Yes," is Clarke's immediate response, which comes out far more petulant than sincere. She clears her throat and tries again, "I know I've been hesitant about you training, but you've been exercising for a while now. Besides, sparring will give us a chance to gauge how you're doing."

Wariness now pervades Lexa's expression. "Very well," she says, and steps to the middle of the cleaning.

It's still early enough that the sun is rising, morning dew wetting the front of Clarke's boots as she kicks it off the grass she steps on. She follows behind Lexa at a few foot distance, so when Lexa turns to face her it's across at least a yard. Neither of them seem quite to know what to do, the anxiety of a pending storm rising around Clarke's throat. But there is anger there as well, an irritation she can't quite keep separate. She should keep it separate. But it's proving exceptionally hard with the way Lexa is looking at her now.

"Light contact," the other woman says, settling into a careful fighting stance. As though there were a real chance Clarke was going to try to pummel her. "No weapons."

Clarke rolls her eyes but mimics Lexa's stance. Already she can tell that Lexa is stiffer than usual, the way she shifts her weight from foot to foot. Testing her own speed. Whereas Clarke feels at ease even crouched as she is. The observation does nothing to staunch her increasing fear that this was a terrible idea.

They move around each other, slowly at first. Lexa throws a few punches and light kicks at Clarke, testing her. Clarke blocks them easily. They're slower than usual, but even an injured Lexa is still more dangerous than most. Her movements may be weighed down by recovery, but her decade-plus of experience with fighting is no less sharp. For Clarke's part, she engages only as much as necessary. Uses what could only be described as halfhearted attacks to Lexa's uninjured side, a swipe here and there to her legs.

"You said you would be _willing,_ " Lexa says, frustration clear in her voice and something darker coagulating in her eyes. She's just turned aside another lackluster attempt by Clarke with hardly a thought, and now launches a pair of punches that are sharper and faster than those that came before. Clearly Clarke hasn't succeeded in making it a convincing fight.

Clarke doesn't reply verbally, but does redouble her efforts. It would scare her, under other circumstances, how quick she is to respond to Lexa's goading. Would wonder why Lexa's sour mood slips so easily under her skin. But in the moment, the transition is seamless - Clarke goes from pulling her punches to putting her weight behind them.

With Clarke's attention more focused on hitting Lexa rather than avoiding hurting her, Lexa manages to land several hits in a row. They seem to almost glance off of Clarke, painful but fleeting. Lexa has the superior knowledge but in this instance Clarke is stronger - she manages to block and return several hits in quick succession, the last of which clearly tips Lexa off balance. She takes two steps back to regain her footing and scowls.

Something changes in her then. Suddenly Lexa is throwing her entire self into every movement, no longer carefully testing her boundaries but willfully, _angrily_ ignoring them entirely. She flings herself at Clarke so hard and so fast that Clarke is now actively having to defend herself, losing ground under an onslaught that isn't as skillful as it is furious.

It's clear that Lexa's body is failing her. Clarke certainly doesn't know everything about how Lexa fights, but she knows a considerable amount about how she moves - and now that Lexa no longer seems to be thinking, every move is telegraphed. Between the two, Clarke can see just how much her body lags behind her mind, how long it takes for her muscles to pull together and execute a punch or a kick that should be second nature to them. Lexa pushes it to be faster and stronger than it is, the way it used to be, and it fails her every time. Her side squeezes too slowly to get her punch around effectively, her foot drags just a little too much. There are tears brimming in her eyes and her wound must hurt her horribly, but she doesn't stop. If anything, she's driven harder.

It quickly becomes clear to Clarke that whatever light contact Lexa had ordered at the start of this has since gone out the window. If Lexa hits her now it will hurt - and Lexa is _trying_ to hit her. Crazed eyes don't even seem to see her anymore, but every blow gets closer and closer to making contact. Clarke's heart thunders in her ears as adrenaline rushes through it, the metallic taste of it cold on her tongue.

Because even an injured, half-mad Lexa is still far more dangerous an opponent than Clarke is used to.

Lexa's strikes only grow more vicious, more wild and unpredictable. It's not only all Clarke can do to keep up, it's also increasingly clear that if she doesn't finish this, one of them is going to get hurt.

There's no way to get close enough without taking a few hits, so Clarke does the only thing she can think of. She blocks yet another volley of punches, ducks down as quickly as she can, and shoves Lexa's sternum with her shoulder. It means Lexa's fist lands on its mark, directly between Clarke's ribcage and left hip. It hurts and Clarke grunts in pain, but it was worth it. Lexa stumbles off balance again, apparently surprised by the sudden show of force. 

This time Clarke doesn't wait for her to regain her footing. Instead she pivots on her left foot, keeps her momentum moving forward, and pounds the heel of her right foot into Lexa's thigh. The former Commander exhales through her teeth in a hiss and staggers to the side. The movement is quite obviously too much for her and she winces again in pain, clutches one hand to her injured side instinctually - which gives Clarke enough time to sweep her leg out again, catch Lexa's left foot, and yank it out from under her.

She goes down like a ton of bricks, landing on her injured side with a cry of real, visceral pain.

That breaks whatever spell had taken hold of them. Lexa doesn't try to get up to continue the fight, just curls in on herself and pulls her knees to her chest as her shoulders shake. Clarke realizes with a sinking, sick feeling that the tears that had gathered in Lexa's eyes stream freely now down her face, and the shaking of her shoulders is in fact silent, full-body sobs. But when she drops to her knees and reaches for her, Lexa just curls herself up tighter and snaps, "Don't!" The sound leaves a jagged crack in Clarke's heart.

"Lexa--"

" _Don't!"_ Lexa says again, twisting her torso to hide her face. Her voice breaks around the command, and it takes her a second to find it again. "Just...don't."

Clarke retracts her hands but otherwise doesn't move. Her eyes rove wildly over Lexa's body, calculating any possible serious injuries. She replays the last ten minutes over and over again in her mind, clinically examining anything particularly damaging they might've done and resolutely ignoring the way each rotation of images brings bile rising to her throat.

"Lexa," Clarke murmurs again, after at least thirty seconds of this analysis. It seems unlikely that they've undone any serious hurt, but there's no way for her to know for sure the extent of what Lexa is experiencing without being able to examine her more clearly. "I'm sorry," her voice sounds hoarse and Clarke realizes with surprise that tears are gathering at the corners of her own eye, "I didn't know how else to stop..."

"Don't," Lexa says, for the third and somehow harshest time. The word comes through teeth gritted against the sobs that still wrack her body, that break her voice even as she spits the words out. "It's not that - it's _never_ that..."

"Well then what is it?" Clarke doesn't mean for the question to come out quite so exasperated, but of course it does. "Because you almost just took my head off and now..." the harshness trails from her words as fast as it came, replaced by a pained whine, "and now you're hurt, again."

"I'm not hurt," Lexa snaps, surging up to a sitting position. Her expression betrays her, twisting in pain as her side stretches in the process. "I'm - I'm _broken_. Did you see me? I'm weak, I'm slow, it has been months and I couldn't so much as hurt a _fly_..."

"I consider myself somewhat stronger than a fly," Clarke grumps, a little bitterly. "But you're ignoring the progress you've made. In that time you've gone from being in a coma to training again. You're doing what you can."

" _And what I can isn't enough!"_ Lexa snaps in Trigedasleng, her voice rising. _"It hasn't been enough, and it will not_ be _enough!"_

Clarke swallows the questions that rise to her lips. What hasn't been enough? Her progress now, or the Lexa that got shot in the first place? Clarke doesn't have it in her to ask. Instead she says, quieter still against the rising tide of Lexa's voice, " _Not today. But maybe tomorrow_." Then, in English, "You have always been enough, and you will be again. But there's no forcing time."

"I do not wish to hear this again," Lexa says, her voice lower again, but bitter. Oh so bitter. "Words will not make me stronger, and they will not buy us time."

"You didn't always think so little of words." Clarke doesn't move, keeps her waiting hand annoyingly, squarely in Lexa's space. "If you won't talk to me, at least come with me. We're going to be late for your tests."

Lexa at last looks down at the proffered hand, and after a beat begrudgingly takes it. She allows Clarke to help her to her feet without a word, her jaw set rigidly and eyes avoiding Clarke's. They walk together in silence towards Alpha, and only then does Clarke realize that Octavia is nowhere to be seen. She must have made herself scarce before this began, and Clarke finds herself suddenly and immensely grateful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, but like. We gave Lexa a puppy. That makes up for it, right?


	8. And Powder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explosion incoming in three...two...one...
> 
> TW: blood tests without consent

Abby is already in the exam room when they arrive, but after one look at their faces she visibly decides against commenting on their lateness. Lexa goes to the table like one going to her deathbed, and Abby begins what must by now be a very practiced routine. Clarke has stopped attending the periodic check-ups her mother has insisted on maintaining, but the way that Abby and Lexa anticipate what the other needs to be done speaks to the number of times every step has occurred. Lexa lifts her shirt before Abby can ask, proffers one arm in anticipation of the blood pressure cuff, takes deep, measured breaths once the stethoscope is pressed to her back and chest without prompting. When it comes time to draw her blood, she rolls her sleeve back and picks up the little rubber ball that sits on the tray table beside Abby, squeezing it when needed and releasing it before needing to be instructed. All the while Abby notes down the results without saying much, as though knowing it's easier to do this without speaking. 

Clarke lingers behind her as she does, peering over her shoulder - on instinct, more than any specific concern - to note the statistics. Blood pressure is fine, weight is returning to normal, breathing is unobstructed. The scar tissue on Lexa's abdomen doesn't show signs of improving, but there are no indications of hemorrhaging or internal bleeding. Lexa still has not obtained a fully functional range of motion and her muscles haven't fully repaired, but much of the trauma seems to be on its way to healing itself. The rest is data that Clarke will have to ask about later, because the blood tests will take time to process.

But it's in the midst of drawing blood that Clarke's otherwise mild interest is piqued again. The color of Lexa's blood is a strange mixture of deep black and oily red - the red blood cells that Clarke had donated two months ago have not yet been fully replaced by Lexa's own cells - and Lexa's eyes remain averted as it flows from the needle beneath her elbow into the vials that Abby clicks one after another into place. But just when Clarke thinks that they've finished up, Abby clicks a fourth, and additional, vial in, and waits for it to fill. Only then does she remove the needle from Lexa's arm, press a cotton pad in its place for a minute, and then sticks a bandage over it before sending Lexa on her way.

Lexa does at least grace Clarke with a glance before leaving, but otherwise they hardly acknowledge each other. Which is just as well, because suddenly Clarke has several questions for her mother that Lexa's presence would not allow her to voice.

"It's been a while since I've seen you administer something so mundane as a check up, so forgive me for asking." Clarke moves into Abby's line of sight, though her mother seems to be ignoring her for the moment. "Why exactly do you need more blood from Lexa than you would for routine blood tests?"

"Redundancy," Abby lies smoothly. Clarke can tell it's a lie, because Abby always pushes her hair back behind her ear when she tells her daughter something in order to hide something else. "Sometimes her blood - for a reason we can't figure out - reacts badly to the test agents. It's spoiled samples before."

Abby still isn't looking at her, so Clarke deliberately situates herself in front of the sink she knows Abby will need after removing her gloves. Sure enough, her mother's gaze fixes on hers, one eyebrow raised in an expression that practically screams: 'excuse me?'

"If you're going to lie to me, you should do it better," Clarke steps aside now that she finally has her mother's attention and gestures sweepingly to the space she just occupied. "The fact that you're trying to keep it from me means you're also keeping it from Lexa. Either you've found something dangerous or you've found something interesting. Either way, I want to know."

Abby removes her gloves and goes to the sink as predicted, looking up at Clarke from the corner of her eyes as she begins to wash her hands. Only after looking back down a beat later does she say, "We wanted to know what made her blood black."

Despite herself, Clarke is intrigued. She's always wondered the same thing, only assumed it was some genetic effect of radiation poisoning. It never occurred to her in all the chaos since they arrived that they now have equipment at their disposal to test that theory. 

So it's with some level of fear and some level of excitement that Clarke asks, "Have you found anything?"

Abby shakes out her hands before grabbing a nearby towel to dry them. "We think we've located it - some kind of protein, but..." After a moment more of hesitation, Abby shakes her head and puts down the towel. "Come with me," she says, picking up her clipboard and the vials, "it will be easier to show you."

She leads Clarke back through the main wing of medical, picking up and then promptly dismissing a preoccupied Eric along the way. Only once he's been sent on his way with an entirely different task does Abby bring Clarke into her office, where she shuts the door and opens a locked file cabinet. 

"We've identified a mystery protein," Abby continues as though never having left off. She produces a file from the cabinet's drawer and opens it, laying it on her desk in front of Clarke. "We aren't entirely sure what it is yet - what it does, why it turns her blood black - there just isn't enough of it in her system yet. But I have my suspicions."

“Which are?” Clarke already has the file in her hands, curiosity winning out over any other possible emotion.

"They're the result of a mutation, certainly. How and why it came about we can only guess at. But I believe their purpose is to help the body process radiation," Abby explains. She leans against the opposite side of the desk, watching Clarke carefully. Clarke can feel her eyes even as she scours the charts in her hands. "Process the harmful energy before it can reach other, more essential tissue."

“In essence, it makes them stronger,” Clarke nods along to her own thoughts as she scans the pages. The data is interesting, but as her mother has said, inconclusive. “Explains why only someone with Nightblood can be named Commander. It’s a demonstration of superior physical strength.” She closes the file and meets her mother’s eyes. “Or it would explain it, if the Grounders knew about it.”

"I'm guessing science isn't the only way to figure this out," Abby says. "If this is true, someone with the mutation - Nightblood - would've been able to venture into irradiated lands that would kill someone without it. Could be how they were able to survive the initial fallout. Someone with Nightblood could do the hard work of finding somewhere with safer radiation levels."

"Makes sense," Clarke finally closes the file and sits down in a chair next to her. She drums her fingers on her mother's desk, already mulling over the inevitable moral implications of this... "You haven't told Lexa you're doing this, which means you haven't asked her permission."

"After what the Mountain had been doing to her people, I didn't think she'd understand."

Clarke, admittedly, hadn't thought of that. It's not a bad point. "That would be difficult to explain, and she might not understand right away. But it's still your responsibility to tell her what you're doing with her blood. We're - _you,_ are - a doctor, you have an obligation to inform her of what you're doing."

"I am also a leader," Abby answers. She sits down in her chair behind her desk as though this accentuates that fact, and folds both her legs and her arms. "There's no question Lexa has been an ally to us in recent months, and we would've definitely had a much worse winter if it weren't for her help. But that's why I - _we_ \- can't tell her. If she reacts badly, it could cost us much more than her yelling at us for a while. I have an obligation to the people who elected me, and there are a lot more of them than there are of her."

"I think it would be wise to limit the amount of morals we compromise, even now," Clarke says, in that way she's inherited from her mother. All calm confidence, even in the face of external and internal turmoil. "I see what you're saying, but this entire plan hinges on Lexa not only returning to power but that she'll continue to be an ally when she does. If she finds out we've been doing this behind her back, that could easily jeopardize the alliances we've worked so hard to build." _That I have worked so hard to build,_ Clarke mentally amends.

"That's all well and good - but you must see the emotional condition that she's in," Abby says, and for the first time in this conversation there's an air of sympathy in her voice. "Perhaps we will tell her one day, when we've worked out the answers and the way they would be able to help us and her people. By then she'll likely be more emotionally stable, and less likely to explode at us in fury for reasons that have nothing to do with our testing."

Logically, Clarke understands that her mother is deflecting. As reasonable as her points are, the fact remains that she is drawing blood from Lexa without her consent, to perform tests that Lexa would be perfectly within her rights to put a stop to. But in her heart, Clarke can't help but agree with some of Abby's argument...the potential for research like this is limitless. They might be able to combat radiation poisoning altogether, which is a significant enough benefit to continue. And who knows what other properties they may uncover, that's only their best guess.

But most importantly, her mother is undeniably right about one thing: Lexa is in no mental state to handle this development. She would see it as a betrayal of trust — a point on which she would be correct, but anything Clarke would say in defense of Abby's actions would certainly be disregarded. One quick recollection of the events of this morning confirms it. Lexa is in no emotional position to handle this, on top of everything else.

"Fine," Clarke says ultimately, "I see your point. Her frustration right now is...palpable. It's harder on her than even I expected it might be. She won't listen to me if I try to explain this. But the _minute_ she's better," she finds her mother's eyes, "we are telling her. _You_ are telling her."

Abby's nod comes far too easily, and Clarke anticipates another argument several weeks down the line. "By then we should have useful results that should help mollify her. The illness that spread during the winter - the storm that came just before it brought heavy amounts of radiation. I still don't know exactly what caused the sickness or why the Grounder medication worked, but if it's tied to the radiation..."

Clarke can't help herself. As Abby bends back over the charts, beginning to pull them apart and run Clarke through the information and accompanying theories, she finds it surprisingly easy to tuck that nagging feeling in the back of her mind away. The nagging feeling that acknowledges that she shouldn't be doing this, that she owes it to Lexa - both as a patient and as a partner - to tell her about Abby's tests, is buried under the bigger picture. There's just too much potential to stop it now, and there's little doubt that's exactly what Lexa would do in her current state.

Though, if Lexa were her usual self, Clarke is equally sure she would be fascinated by this - assuming they could convince her that taking blood is nothing like what they did in the Mountain, of course. It's much like a puzzle. Every element and chemical quality to her blood, every protein present has a detectable signature. The question is what each of them does, and why they're present. Lexa would find it interesting, if she weren't much more likely to rip the entire research folder in half at this point.

After a full debrief, Clarke is not-so-subtly dismissed from the med ward. Abby apparently has a lot to do, which very clearly translates to 'things I don't want you to know about.' It's just as well - Clarke hasn't forgotten the events of that morning and has plans of her own. And it's not like she can't easily discover whatever her mother is doing after hours, in any case.

Clarke finds Lincoln easily enough. His job, when he's not following Octavia around or training, is to manage the largest of their storage areas. There's no end to the amount of things to move and organize, and then move again and reorganize, and it seemed the safest place for him to spend his time. There are still many soldiers and inhabitants of Arkadia that wouldn't look kindly on a Grounder working among them, and there are only a handful of people allowed in and out of the storage area at any given time. So when Clarke walks into the front office and asks to see Lincoln, the man working there gives her a long enough glance to identify who she is and nods her through.

The air inside is stifling. Though it isn't particularly hot out today, the warehouse is cobbled together of sheet metal and has no windows. Though fans in the ceiling keep ventilation moving, the warmth of the air hits Clarke as soon as she steps in.

Clarke picks her way between the shelves, lit from above by some of the massive floodlights salvaged from Farm Station and carted back to the then-fledgling Arkadia. Much of that salvage is now stored here, sheets and sheets of metal, big coils of copper and wires, derelict screens and boxes of fabrics, all stacked high from floor to ceiling. Further in, crates of non-perishable food stores replace the more haphazard stacks of building materials, and it's here that Clarke finds Lincoln. 

With one arm looped through a strut and one foot on the shelf below, Lincoln half hangs from an upper shelf, a clipboard and pencil - of all things - in his hands. Lexa is not the only Grounder to be making use of _Skaikru_ tank tops it would seem, as a dark grey sleeveless shirt is the only top Lincoln wears, clinging to him in places made dark with sweat. His shaved head beads with it, and he wipes it away with the back of his pencil-wielding wrist, his tattooed bicep flexing in the process. With hands like that, so well suited to the sword and bow, the mundane items of bookkeeping look especially lame.

But in that moment, Clarke suddenly has a deeper appreciation of Octavia's choice in partner.

"Lincoln!" she calls once she finds her voice again, and his dark eyes look up. 

"Clarke?" he says, surprise light in his voice. He sticks the pencil behind his ear in a thoughtless movement that seems far too _Skaikru-like_ and tucks the clipboard under his arm. He lowers himself down the shelves as though they were a ladder, then drops the last few feet to land in front of Clarke. In Trigedasleng he asks, " _What are you doing here?"_

" _Admiring the view, currently,_ " Clarke teases with a smile. Then, in English, "But more importantly, I have a favor to ask. A favor which does not involve moving boxes or a clipboard."

Lincoln, who looked down at himself and pulled at the sticky parts of his shirt at the raise of her eyebrows, now stands a little taller in front of her as his eyes return to hers. "That's what most people want of me these days," he says with a grin, "so I'm all ears."

"Your talents are obviously being wasted," Clarke agrees. She leans against the shelves to her left and sighs, already missing the easy part of this conversation as she says, "I'm not sure this favor is much better though. Lexa has started training again," she glances back at him, watches his smile slowly fade, "and it's been difficult, to say the least. We were sparring for the first time today, and..." she trails off and shrugs, not exactly sure how to describe the utter catastrophe that was this morning.

"It did not go well?" He surmises. When Clarke's lips press together, he sighs. "I'm sorry, Clarke, but...I'm not a Nightblood, and I'm not a Flamekeeper. I don't know what I can do to help."

"No, but you are a warrior. I think she'll let Octavia spar with her _," and would prefer it to sparring with me_ goes unsaid, but to Clarke it may as well have been shouted, "but you've seen how she fights. It may help her get in shape, but Octavia doesn't fight like Lexa. Even I would be a closer fit, but she'll outpace me sooner rather than later. No matter how many hours I spent with the Nightbloods, I will never be a warrior. You're the closest thing to an ideal partner she has."

"Closest, perhaps," Lincoln says, and from the look on his face he definitely errs on the side of _perhaps,_ "But I'm still...it would be one thing for Octavia to spar with her. She is unique, a Sky Person who was taken on as a second to my chief and one of your friends. I'm just a warrior from a village at the foot of the Mountain. For the Commander to spar with me would be an insult to her."

A warrior from a village at the foot of the Mountain _who was banished by that same Commander,_ Clarke mentally adds. She rubs at her the bridge of her nose, attempting to worry away the headache forming between her eyes. "Well, beggars can't be choosers. She needs warriors to train with, and we can't tell anyone from _Trikru_ or _Floukru_ who she really is. You and Octavia are our only options, at least for now."

Clarke pushes herself away from the shelf to stand at her full height, which is still at least a head below Lincoln. He looks at her seriously though, as if he's giving her words their due weight. Good. "I know I'm asking for something that's difficult. More than difficult, maybe. I wouldn't ask if I didn't have to, but I have no other option. Will you at least think about it?"

Lincoln takes a slow breath in through his nose, and Clarke can practically see the options being weighed in his head. Eventually, he nods resignedly. "I'll think about it."

"Thanks, Lincoln." Clarke squeezes his arm and adds before she leaves, "I'll see you tonight? I could use some of whatever liquid fire concoction Murphy has come up with about now, but seems wiser to wait until the evening."

"I will be finished with this by dinner," he answers, waving his hand up at the shelves above his head. "So could meet you then. Make a night of it."

"Sounds like a plan," Clarke smiles, and leaves.

That night, she gets profoundly drunk with her friends. The others might not have gone through what she went through that day, but it's clear that no one in Arkadia really escapes the touch of the current crisis. Bellamy is more than happy to organize a number of drinking games at their table, and Raven is eager to jump in; Clarke hasn't seen her since Helena left, and there's something that's just a little _too_ normal about her. Lincoln finishes when he promised and joins in, their little group one of the only in the city he can regularly feel comfortable with without Octavia around. The younger Blake doesn't make an appearance until after nightfall, when the sound of crickets is high in the air and fireflies light up the distant fields. She comes back with a _Skaikru_ patrol, her sword on her back and her face painted for war, but her lips break into a smile when she sees the drunk gaggle of idiots she calls friends waving her over. For a little while, Clarke is able to forget the pressing walls she's hemmed in by, the clouds of war rolling ever closer through the trees beyond. The nervous way the Sky People move around her, the sneers that pull at the lips of some when she passes in her Grounder jacket, the fear that drops voices to a whisper when they speak the word _Grounder_. The mistrust in Lexa's eyes. The anger and the pain that fill the ever widening gulf between them, until Clarke fears she can hardly reach across it anymore.

When she stumbles back to the tent it's well after midnight. She hums nonsense to herself as she trudges across the dirt paths of Arkadia, past the firing range and through the training field to their little copse of trees. Her feet are heavy and her body clumsy, and she trips over a root once and shouts a sudden curse at it, but otherwise makes it back just fine. The tent is dark when she arrives, and she ducks in to find Lexa tucked into her bed roll, asleep on her side. As quietly as she can - which isn't all that quietly, sober her will realize, but is quiet enough to her drunken ears - she pulls off her clothes and kicks off her boots. Her fingertips buzz and her head swims as she climbs into bed.

She wiggles up behind Lexa, her knees tucking behind her girlfriend's and her arm draping over her waist. Some part of her, a distant part of her brain, notes that beneath her arm Lexa is far too still and far too rigid to actually be asleep. But she has her nose in the soft waves of Lexa's hair, the familiar scent of her skin and sweat joining the haze already in her head, and in an instant she's asleep.

Lincoln doesn't appear the next morning, which Clarke knows because she follows Lexa to the empty field behind the firing range despite the splitting headache that greets her upon waking. Lexa doesn't say a thing to her the entire time, hardly even meets her eyes, but this is nothing new and Clarke is too hungover to pay it much mind. Upon seeing her, Octavia pours a cup of coffee out of her thermos and presses it into Clarke's hands, a look of sympathy pressing her lips into a thin line. While Lexa works quietly through the exercises she's developed off to one side, Clarke huddles among the crates and watches Octavia do the same.

Clarke has just about given up hope when, three days later, a fourth figure approaches the field through the haze of evaporating dew. Lincoln's jaw is set, and Clarke gets the distinct impression that he's a man about to step into the airlock without a spacesuit when he stops at the edge of the field. Neither she nor Octavia say anything - both in the midst of their own workouts, they both just stare at Lincoln for differing reasons. Clarke knows Octavia has been talking to Lincoln about this decision, and the look on her face is one of mute support. She nods to him, and he blinks at her, and his attention shifts to the far end of the field.

Lexa has stopped what she's doing, and now stands looking at Lincoln from several yards away. Her eyes move from him to Clarke and Octavia and back again, her lips set in a thin line and jaw rigid. Lincoln clears his throat and nods at her. "Commander."

Clarke allows her lips to turn up in a grateful smile as Lincoln's eyes pass over hers, but she otherwise doesn't say anything. This will be difficult as it is, without Lexa believing she somehow forced Lincoln into this. Her eyes follow Lincoln though as he takes another step toward her, hesitates, then stops. Lexa doesn't moves at all, which is hardly encouraging.

Lincoln seems to arrive at the same conclusion. Lexa's eyes just bore into him from several yards away, and he shifts his shoulders awkwardly under the weight of her gaze. " _Heda,_ " he says, " _Ai gaf skul yu in_."

Lexa's eyebrow perks imperiously, her chin tipping up. _"Yu gaf skul kom ai in?"_ She asks. And then, " _Splita?"_

A chill runs down Clarke's spine. The word isn't familiar to her, but she can piece its meaning together easily enough. _You want to train with me? Outcast?_ Clarke had known this was going to be a hard sell, but she didn't think Lexa would be outright hostile to the idea.

Lexa doesn’t look at Clarke, which Clarke imagines is either on purpose or just as well, because her face has turned to a perfect scowl. 

“Lexa...” she doesn’t say it loudly. It’s more than unlikely that Lexa can’t hear her at all. Even so, Clarke would swear green eyes find hers for a split second before refocusing on Lincoln.

" _He's an outcast, but he's a good fighter_." There had been a flash of violence in Octavia's eyes at the mention of _Splita,_ but she speaks in even Trigedasleng as she turns to face Lexa. Lexa herself finally pulls her eyes away from Lincoln to look at her. " _He's better suited to it than me, anyway. And this way_..." her shrug is more baiting than nonchalant, " _y_ _ou don't have to get your ass kicked by a Sky Person."_

Lexa's jaw flexes, her temper flaring behind her eyes. " _No,_ " she says lowly, her attention shifting back to Lincoln. " _Just a traitor."_

Lincoln takes another step forward. "Commander, please--"

" _Don't call me that,_ " Lexa snaps with such vehemence that it draws everyone up short.

“We’ve all made choices,” Clarke says from her perch, “all been called a traitor.” That snaps Lexa’s attention over to where Clarke sits. “Our options are limited, Lexa. You need a warrior to train with.”

It's Clarke's turn to bear the weight of that gaze as Lexa levels it on her for several seconds. When at last she turns away, Clarke realizes she's been holding her breath. 

"Very well," she snaps, "But I have not finished my sets. You can wait."

Lincoln nods and sets his equipment aside, apparently more than content to warm up with Octavia in the meantime. Clarke watches this exchange with some relief mixed with no small measure of apprehension. She made her bed, and will gladly lie in it - if Lexa doesn’t have an idea that Clarke somehow orchestrated this, then she doesn’t know Clarke very well at all. But that doesn’t make it any easier to be the object of Lexa’s ire, yet again.

They don't speak of it afterwards. Lexa doesn't mention it, and Clarke is too afraid to bring it up; nothing she says at this point is likely to convince Lexa to take Lincoln up on his offer, so if Lexa isn't interested in picking a fight with her about it then she'll gladly return the favor. 

Not that they'd have much occasion for that anyway. Lexa only becomes more scarce, spending more and more of her time working with Alfred. With Clarke's advice and Lexa's ministrations, the dog has been making a swift recovery - meaning that training him is all the more important, as Lexa is always quick to say when asked about it. If he's to remain safe and the denizens of Arkadia un-terrorized, he needs to understand basic commands. But with so much of Lexa's time dedicated to that task, Clarke finds that much of her days are freed up as well. Not that she can afford to sit around and twiddle her thumbs of course, or would even if she could; there is still much to do, a new crisis cropping up seemingly every day. But in the time she would normally cut out to be with Lexa, Clarke soon finds herself with nothing to do...and in the process, is drawn to the one novel thing around her. Whatever guilt that squirms in her stomach can't overcome the curiosity she has for the results of Lexa's blood tests, and she periodically drops into the medical ward to investigate them with Abby and Eric.

Despite the makeshift laboratories and cobbled together equipment that they have to work with, they're making surprising headway. Abby has isolated a protein in Lexa's blood that isn't present in any of the _Skaikru_ samples she's acquired. She is convinced that the protein contributes significantly to the change in color in Lexa's blood, and several tests indicate that it does react differently when exposed to radiation than regular blood cells. The challenge is isolating exactly how that difference occurs and why.

And they've only discovered the single protein for now, Eric is quick to specify - there's no telling what else they may be able to uncover with better equipment and further samples. It's the need for 'further samples' that finally gets through to Clarke. Abby and Eric have been flying through the samples that they do have, apparently unconcerned at the idea of extracting more. Without Lexa's consent, of course. It's after Eric tentative requests - on behalf of Abby, Clarke is sure - that Clarke not contradict her mother's reasoning for further testing with Lexa that she finally admits it. This has gone on too long. 

The fact that it's gone on at all is a problem in itself, and Clarke has allowed it to continue. She is curious what examining and testing Lexa's blood could mean, not only for her people but for the Grounders as well - but it's no excuse to take advantage of Lexa's medical condition. Just because she doesn't know why her blood is being taken doesn't make it acceptable. If anything, it makes it worse. Lexa trusts Clarke and Abby to do what's right and to tell her everything she needs to know. And they've betrayed that trust.

Clarke is in the midst of an uproarious internal debate as she walks, slowly, back toward their tent. It's been over a week since she discovered what her mother was doing with Lexa's blood. Over a week since Lexa attacked Clarke like a feral beast instead of the trained warrior Clarke knows her to be. Over a week since they've said more than four words to each other in passing.

Clarke's boots are heavy on the now bright, summer grass. Lexa won't understand this. She won't understand why they didn't tell her, why they're doing this in the first place. Her mental state has been so chaotic lately, Clarke can hardly guess how she'll react let alone prepare. It's so similar to what the Mountain Men did to her people, Clarke has a hard time believing Lexa would give her the benefit of the doubt - and then feels immediately ashamed for even thinking that Lexa wouldn't hear her side.

It's with this strained train of thought that Clarke finally makes it to her destination.

She hears the steady rasp of stone on steel before she reaches the tent's entrance. Lexa has taken to maintaining her sword regularly again, despite the fact that she doesn't yet carry it regularly. As far as Clarke can tell it isn't meant to be a pointed message, though it does remind her anew of what awaits them at the end of this road; it seems instead to be a sort of meditation, one that leaves Lexa feeling calmer and more grounded. So she doesn't say anything when she ducks into the tent and finds Lexa sitting on her bedroll, the naked blade of her sword across her knees and whetstone in hand. Pip sits curled at Lexa's hip and lifts her head when Clarke enters, standing and giving a luxurious stretch before padding over to where Clarke kneels by the footlocker. She scratches Pip behind the ears, flattens her hand when the cat pushes her head against it, follows through along the arc of her back. And all the while she waits for Lexa to finish.

When the scraping stops, the quiet it leaves presses on Clarke's ears. Burdened by the nerves and mounting guilt that buzz in the pit of her stomach, waiting for Lexa to break the silence already feels like the start of an argument. She doesn't look up, but from the corner of her eye she can see that Lexa doesn't sheathe the sword. It sits glinting in her lap, one hand resting on its guard and the other on the sheath.

"He keeps calling me 'Commander'," Lexa eventually says, but her voice is so quiet and distant Clarke isn't entirely sure she was meant to hear it. Lexa isn't one for talking to herself, but it didn't feel like she was talking to _her_.

Stranger yet, that leaves the next logical conclusion that Lexa was talking to her sword.

Clarke flips her body around in the confined space and sits soundlessly back against the footlocker. Pip rubs her cheeks against the side of Clarke's thigh. "Who does?" she asks, nearly as quiet.

"Lincoln." Now Clarke can see that Lexa's eyes remain trained on her blade's edge. As she speaks her hand closes around the hilt and, with the flat still across her knees, she tips the blade this way and that to see its different angles. For a brief moment, Clarke can see her green eyes reflected in its polished steel. "I thought it difficult, at first, to have your people call me by my name...but to hear him call me that..." Lexa's lips press together in a grimace, and the sentence goes unfinished.

Clarke realizes with surprise that it hadn't occurred to her until this moment how odd it must be for people to be calling her Lexa. People other than Clarke, that is. Of course, not everyone does. Lincoln apparently doesn't. Octavia avoids referring to Lexa specifically at all, and Bellamy is at least a little strained and uncomfortable any time he's forced to refer to her by name. Monty calls her Lexa, but only to Clarke, and Jasper resolutely refers to her by her title. Raven, of course, happily calls her whatever she likes.

But none of this seems to be the real issue. Lexa looks at her sword like she would simultaneously like to thrust it through someone's heart and chuck it off a cliff - a feeling that, if she's guessed it correctly, Clarke is sympathetic to. "It's your title," she says with a little shrug of her shoulders. "You are Commander until your death, and Lincoln is one of few people aware that you're not dead." Again, that _yet_ rings in Clarke's head. _Yet, yet, yet_. "It would seem stranger to me if he called you Lexa."

"I would prefer it if he called me neither," Lexa answers snappishly, and in a startlingly swift motion the slaps her sword back into its sheath. "I am not Lexa to him, and I am Commander to no one."

Clarke purses her lips, unsure how to respond to that. Unsure if she _should_ respond to that, particularly given that she had an entirely different conversation in mind for this moment - and it's starting off just swimmingly.

After a few seconds of mindlessly picking at a stray thread on her jeans, Clarke takes a deep breath. Then, "I have something to tell you."

The air in the tent changes instantly. The sullen energy that surrounded Lexa is suddenly electrified, and Clarke can feel her eyes on her for the first time. The worm of guilt doesn't help her much when Lexa only says: "Alright."

"You know how the daily tests that my mom administers - well, not daily anymore, I guess." They had cut down the tests to only a handful of times a week, which explains Eric and Abby's 'shortage' problem. "Anyway, she draws blood so that she can test it, to be sure you're healthy and that you're continuing down the road to recovery smoothly."

"So I have come to understand," Lexa says. She's set the sword down beside her, its length darkening the top of Clarke's bedroll. Her left hand, now empty, flexes an imaginary stress ball. "Did they find something wrong?"

"No! No, nothing wrong," Clarke replies quickly, eager to at least offer that reassurance. "Your tests are all impressively positive, and you've been improving more quickly than even I expected. Though I shouldn't have doubted you." She relays this with a small smile - a poor attempt at an early apology for what she's about to say. "You're healthy. But last week during one of your check ups, I noticed that my mother was drawing more blood than was strictly necessary for those basic tests. When I asked her about it, she explained that she's been taking more blood in order to test different aspects of it. Why it's black, for instance, and why you might have a better natural defense against radiation than the rest of us. Or at least, that's what she suspects may be the case."

Lexa's brow furrows and she gives Clarke a long, uncertain look. "This...is not a part of the regular testing?" Her lips press together again. "I have not been told of this."

"No," Clarke confirms, and forces her jaw into a relaxed position. The obvious contradiction makes her teeth slide painfully against each other. "It isn't a part of the regular tests. I didn't even know about it, not until I noticed it that day. She should have told you." 

It would be easy to pin all of this on her mother - in fact, Clarke would very much like to do so. Especially considering telling Lexa all of this and any ensuing fallout will incur the wrath of that same person, and Clarke isn't looking forward to that conversation either. 

" _I_ should have told you," she admits, "when I found out. Your permission should have been given before the tests even began, that's how being a doctor - a healer - works, at least for us. But she thought you might say no, and the possible benefits to understanding what makes your blood unique..."

"Was too tempting to ignore?" Lexa asks, and there's a new edge to her voice. "You said you noticed it a week ago. Did you ask her that day?" If her words are sharp, her eyes are now sharper. "You've known about it for a week? And neglected to tell me?"

"Yes," is the easy, honest answer. It's almost a relief to be asked questions instead of walking around an explanation. "It was the day we trained together, and my mother...well, it doesn't matter what she said. I wanted to tell you, but I thought telling you then would have done more harm than good. I still think so. But that didn't make it right, I realize that. Which is why I'm telling you now."

"A week later," Lexa confirms flatly.

The look in Lexa's eyes is so intense, like Clarke has never seen before. Never seen it directed at her, at any rate. It's all she can do to meet that gaze and keep her voice steady as she confirms, "Yes, a week later."

It can be incredibly difficult to storm out of a tent. The ceiling isn't that high, so a grown person can't really stand to their full height - at best, there's an awkward shift to their feet, the rest of them bent at the middle and shoulders hunched. There's also no real door, just a flap that one has to argue with and can't slam shut. Yet somehow, Lexa manages it. She snatches up her sheathed sword, slides her weight forward onto her knees, lunges one leg out, and stands and pushes by Clarke in the same motion. The tent flap snaps open, and in a breath she's gone.

It's not that Clarke hadn't expected this kind of reaction, it's more that it happens so fast. She's left blinking at the swinging flap, attempting to process what just happened as Pip skitters to the far side of the tent in a disgruntled huff at the sudden movement. And then she regains mobility in her limbs and jumps through the flap herself. Far less gracefully than Lexa had, naturally.

The woman in question hasn't gone far, is pacing just a few yards away - but Clarke can practically feel the humidity from the emotional storm clouds brewing around Lexa.

"You _always_ do this," Lexa storms, and Clarke is grateful that she at least didn't have to wait long for the torrent to come. Her moment of relief is hardly a shield against the lightning in Lexa's eyes, however. "Ever since I was injured, ever since we have been here, you have been hiding things from me. And I have _had it,_ Clarke."

Clarke keeps her distance, as if that will do anything to alleviate the tension of this situation. "I haven't been hiding things from you, Lexa. I'm only trying to help, whether that's assisting my mother with your healing or dealing with things that don't require your attention."

"Without doing me the decency of allowing _me_ to decide what does and does not require my attention!" Lexa abruptly stops pacing and snaps to face Clarke head on. "I know you have not been telling me about developments with the Coalition, and don't you _dare_ insult me by pretending otherwise. Those are my people out there, Clarke. My people for whom _I_ am responsible, but the first and only knowledge I have of them came from Helena!"

"Your entire focus, all of your efforts, should be put toward healing," Clarke replies smoothly. Her temper hasn't quite gotten the better of her, at least not yet. "You keep telling me how little time we have - I'm trying to maximize it, as much as I can. I'm trying to take care of things so that you can put all of your energy toward building your strength. Isn't that what you want?"

" _Does it sound like that's what I want?"_ Lexa answers, deftly sidestepping Clarke's intended point. "I want to be myself. And being myself typically means having the freedom to make my own damned decisions, not just wield a _sword!"_ Her sword clatters to the ground as though to accentuate the point, but the fact that she chucks it from her is more startling than not.

Clarke's shoulders tense instinctively at the sudden movement, preparing to jump or run or otherwise react. The jolt of adrenaline - of _fear_ \- that spikes in her chest at the sound erodes Clarke's ability to remain calm. Or at least, to keep her voice down.

"Then maybe you should try making some," she counters. "Ever since you started training I've gotten nothing but resistance from you. No matter what I suggest or how hard I try to include you, it doesn't matter. It's not exactly easy talking to you when you act like you want to be apart from - us."

"I _am_ apart from you, Clarke," Lexa answers bitterly, and Clarke can't tell what hurts more: hearing the word _you,_ or knowing it's being used in the collective sense. Intentionally or not, Lexa has completely missed Clarke's last minute switch in pronouns and that has its own sting to it. "The others treat me like glass in a flame, liable to explode at any moment. Don't change the subject."

Clarke takes a moment to glare at the sword on the ground, for no other reason than to refocus into the task at hand - instead of dwelling on the hurt feelings threatening to overwhelm her. "This feels very on topic to me, but fine. What subject am I supposed to be focused on?"

When she looks up again, there is no mercy in Lexa's eyes. "You _lied_ to me."

"I kept something from you," Clarke clarifies, unnecessarily, "and I apologized. I'll even do it again, I am sorry that I didn't tell you what my mother was doing. I should have. But your mental state hasn't exactly inspired confidence lately. I should have told you, but you can't tell me you wouldn't have dismissed continuing our research out of hand if I'd told you that day."

"You are telling it to me today, and I am _still_ considering dismissing it out of hand!" Lexa answers. "I'm sorry my mental state is not up to your standards, but I hardly see how that justifies you lying to me. You can call it whatever you like, justify it in whatever way allows you to sleep at night, but the fact remains that you have been _intentionally_ keeping the truth from me, Clarke. As though I am a child that needs to have her decisions made for her, instead of _your partner._ And you will have to forgive me if you apologizing for a single instance of that behavior does not undo months of frustration for me."

That finally does it. Whatever control Clarke possessed dissolves into anger - quick, aggressive, unrelenting anger that she can see reflected in equal measure in Lexa's eyes. Not that that stops her.

"It's difficult to treat you like anything other than a child when you are constantly acting like one! It takes _constant_ coercion to convince you to accept even the smallest amount of help, and even when you do you're miserable! The reality of our situation - of the situation in Polis, of _Trikru_ and _Floukru_ and everyone who lives here - is obvious. I didn't think I needed to detail every aspect for you, and I know it's hard enough knowing it's happening without being exposed to every little thing that comes up every day. You have other things to worry about and focus on. Since it's hard enough getting you to accept help when you need it, I didn't think I needed to add troop movements and political intrigue to the mix!"

"It's strange that what you call 'help' feels so much like coddling to me," Lexa snaps, and there's a viciousness to her words that Clarke has never heard. The anger that Lexa has shown before is blinding, white-hot fury that roars out of her like a fire that puts the sun to shame. But this is different. This is bitter and cold, seeming to come from somewhere much deeper than her rage. "We both know that you've been keeping more than 'every little thing' from me. Choosing what I worry about, what I am capable of managing and what I am not." She scoffs. "Would you like to choose what clothes I wear while you're at it?"

"I'm just trying to _help you!"_ Clarke stops herself just short of pointing out that she did, in fact, pick out most of Lexa's clothes. "I'm trying to make sure you have as much time as I can possibly give you to focus on healing. I don't need you to ask for it, I'm doing it because this is what I have to do. I _have_ to help you get stronger so that you can walk into a duel that even at your best you may not win - I _have_ to make sure everything goes according to plan so that I can kiss you goodbye and quite possibly watch you die. Again." Tears well at the corners of Clarke's eyes, but they don't stop her - if anything they add new venom to her voice. "You have no _fucking_ idea what this is like, Lexa. I'm sorry that my attempts to make things easier for you are such a fucking burden."

" _You never even asked me!"_ Lexa's voice rises to a bellow that echoes off the trees. A handful of birds take flight from the branches over their heads, and, just out of sight, Alfie starts barking his head off. "You never asked me, 'would this help?' You just assumed. You took your own word for law instead of just fucking talking to me. Like I'm a human - _like I'm your partner!"_

Lexa's voice breaks around the word, and for a moment she can't go on. She grits her teeth, swallows, blinks hard, and Clarke finds her own tongue so twisted she can't interject before Lexa finds her voice again: "Do you think I'm not afraid to die?" Her hands splay out to either side of herself, and Clarke can see they're shaking. "That I am not afraid to leave you? And everything we have?"

When Clarke doesn't answer immediately, Lexa shakes her head. She takes one step forward, puts her foot under the guard of her discarded sword, and kicks it up into her hand. She glares at Clarke from the corner of her eye, and while there is anger there, there is sadness and pain too. Alfred is still barking anxiously in the distance, and Lexa turns to walk towards the sound.

Clarke watches her go, her mouth thick with words she can't express. She thinks for a few seconds that maybe, Lexa will turn back around. Maybe they'll be able to hash this out together without one of them running off, leaving everything half said and fully raw. But of course she doesn't, and Clarke feels foolish a second later for even hoping she might.

That night Clarke sleeps in her room in Alpha. It's been so long since she's spent more than a few minutes at a time there that it takes a while to scrounge up a blanket and pillow, as well as extra clothes for the next morning. Lexa not only ignores Clarke the next day, but pointedly avoids any place Clarke would normally spend time. Several times throughout the day Clarke almost goes back to the tent - to talk, or maybe shout some more, to do _something_. But each time she stops herself. All of Arkadia is Clarke's home - as pissed off as she feels, Clarke still loves Lexa. She built their tent for Lexa to have a place to feel comfortable, and she would be the worst kind of asshole to take that away now. Much as she'd really, really like to.

When it becomes apparent that she'll be spending more than just one night away from the tent, she takes the time to pilfer a few shirts from what remains of the clothing storage. Unwilling to be the first to apologize, Clarke avoids Lexa just as expertly. After two days, it's as if they'd planned their schedules around each other. Which, in a sense, they do. Lexa wakes up before dawn and is done training by the time Clarke makes her way to the field. They're never less than twenty or so feet apart, even as they pass each other. Clarke works in Alpha most of the day and Lexa is off doing who knows what. She isn't even sure if Lexa has brought up the issue of her mother's research until, four days later, Abby corners Clarke in one of the more claustrophobic hallways in the med ward

"What have you done?" Abby asks in sharp, hushed tones, and Clarke thinks to herself: _Oh, so many things._

"If you could be more specific?" Clarke retorts, meaning to sound as exasperated as she feels but succeeding only in sounding profoundly tired.

"Lexa missed her check in today, and when I sent Eric after her, she said she would refuse to come until 'the testing stopped'." Abby folds her arms across her chest in a perfect mix of disappointment and anger that only mothers can manage. "You told her, didn't you?"

Clarke rubs the bridge of her nose and sighs in preemptive defeat. It's not as if she hadn't seen this coming - she just really hoped the four days between their fight and this revelation indicated that Lexa had agreed to continue the tests. But apparently not.

"I did tell her, yes. Obviously. I know what we discussed, but it was wrong not to tell her." And turned out to be a hell of a lot bigger mistake than anticipated, but it's not like her mother needs to know that. "For what it's worth, I think she'll hear your side of things. You could still convince her to allow the tests to continue."

"In order to do that, I would first have to get her to _talk_ to me, wouldn't I?" Abby asks, but something in her eyes changes a moment later - like she suddenly saw through her own frustration to the pain that Clarke has not so expertly been hiding. "Are you two alright?"

"Not exactly," Clarke admits, and it's a testament to her mental state that she doesn't even attempt to lie. "She didn't take us hiding this from her very well. We'll be fine, but you might have to come up with a way to convince her to talk to you on your own. I doubt my presence will be much help, and believe it or not I do still agree with you. We should continue testing her blood, if we can."

A number of conflicting emotions flit through Abby's eyes, the mother and doctor and chancellor all fighting for dominance in a moment that means very different things for all of them. Clarke decides to save her the trouble of figuring out how to express any one of them separately.

"We can talk about it later," she waves a hand dismissively, affecting a nonchalance she absolutely does not feel. "For now let's focus on our work. We do need to get her approval for the tests, but I think she may give it. Just be honest with her about why we want to do it, and how it may help Grounders as well as us if we're able to discover anything. She'll hear you out." 

Even just saying that out loud is a reminder of Clarke's own mistakes. Over the last few days she's been forced to realize her missteps. In an effort to protect Lexa, she may have eliminated any possibility of her enthusiastic consent. Though, even thinking that, Clarke imagines she's selling Lexa short. Normal Lexa, _Clarke's_ Lexa, would hear Abby's perspective and make a balanced decision. Clarke should have allowed her to do that in the first place, instead of being swayed by her mother's desire for secrecy.

"Make it a formal meeting," Clarke suggests and begins walking back down the hall the way she came. As predicted, her mother follows close on her heels. "Outside of her usual checkups. Treat her as the Commander she is, and she'll rise to that occasion." _I hope_.

"That's a lot of new faith you suddenly have in her," Abby says, as though reading Clarke's mind. "What makes you think it'll work now?"

"It would've worked before," Clarke mutters lowly, and hates the pang that echoes in her chest as she does. She's not sure whether her mom heard her but either way, Abby's footsteps falter and she stops following.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woof. Couple fights, amirite?


	9. Consume

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: alcohol, explicit sexual content (oral, fingering, light bondage)

New reports from their spies in Polis have never been something Clarke relished receiving in the past, but when one arrives that week she tears into it with gusto. She has always been able to disappear into her work, and now is no exception - especially with the temperature rising across the known world, both literally and figuratively. The Blue Cliff clan have, with some surreptitious help from _Trikru,_ successfully rooted out the smuggling operations that were moving _Azgedan_ goods through their lands and new patrols on their borders and waterways have put an end to the expedited movement of those crucial supplies. Normally that would be an outright win for _Skaikru_ and their allies, but the violence there is spreading: most of the clans have maintained a full delegation in Polis since the news of Lexa's death spread, but in recent days the size of those delegations have doubled. Nearly every clan has sent additional warriors to the capital to support the ambassadors and chiefs already there, and where there are large groups of idle, prideful fighters, fights are sure to follow; the number of bar and street brawls in Polis have gone through the roof. The city is awash in the boiling tempers of those who lead it, a powder keg waiting for a spark. 

At the border, skirmishes have broken out between _Azgedan_ warriors traveling to Polis and _Trikru_ guards. With Roan in Polis, Indra can't entirely forbid _Azgedans_ from moving through her lands - and the _Azgedans_ know it. Perceiving _Trikru_ as a bunch of traitors dead set on undermining the rightful Commander, _Azgedan_ warriors have made it a sport to goad _Trikru_ guards knowing that they shouldn't fight back. But 'shouldn't' is different from 'can't,' and more than a few healers' tents are now full of wounded from both sides. Thankfully, the casualty count has stayed low enough to be within the norm for this violent world, and a political incident hasn't yet sprung up.

Clarke works to strike shadow deals with the other clans through Indra and Helena, gradually constructing friendships with the Shallow Valley and Blue Cliff clans through promises of supplies and shared knowledge. _Skaikru_ doesn't have much to trade in the way of food and finished supplies, but they have plenty of raw material in their stores - and as more and more of their manufacturing tools come online, the more they can produce with those materials. Medicine and steel go out; information and alliances come in. 

The hardest part of her job has little to do with what's happening outside of Arkadia's fence, it turns out, but within it. Information leaks with infuriating regularity from the Council's chambers to the city's general population, despite a concerted effort to keep the most volatile of it on lockdown. Rumors spread like wildfire: _Azgeda's_ poking at _Trikru's_ border is just the lead up to an invasion; a genocidal force is being quietly amassed by Roan and his allies; their Grounder allies are planning to betray them, scapegoat them in order to save themselves from war. As reports of violence grow, fear spreads throughout the city. Hushed voices whisper just on the edge of hearing: we should hole up in the Mountain, see them try to get to us there. Why don't we strike first? Bomb their city, turn it to glass. Scare them enough and they'll take off, tail between their legs.

None of the more vocal members of Arkadia's society approach Clarke with these suggestions, of course - but they do watch her. Everywhere she goes, Clarke starts to feel eyes on her back. She sees friends on work breaks and soldiers on guard duty whisper to each other as she passes, straightening awkwardly and looking anywhere but at her if she meets their eyes. It's no surprise that she would be labelled as one of the biggest Grounder sympathizers - she lived in Polis for months, after all - but it is somewhat of a surprise to Clarke that many people, especially some of the more vocal soldiers under Pike, begin to regard her with outward hostility. It makes her nervous, not for herself but for their plan. And, in particular, for Lexa.

No one bothers the Grounder woman who supposedly escaped Polis with Clarke, at least not yet. Lexa keeps to herself, moving from training to Alpha and back to their tent, appearing only briefly here and there to grab a plate of food or quickly use the showers. It probably even helps that they avoid each other at every turn. Still, it makes Clarke nervous to realize that, if things continue as they are and sentiments toward Grounders continue to get worse, Lexa could very well be in danger. Lexa and Lincoln, for that matter.

Nearly a week after their fight and only clipped words here and there where absolutely necessary, Clarke finds herself back in the bar. Raven had insisted that she come and socialize tonight - she cornered Clarke in the med ward and quite literally twisted her arm into coming. She's had several glasses of moonshine and barely even picked at her food, which is par for the course. Her appetite has been lacking ever since she returned to Arkadia, and this schism between her and Lexa isn't helping. But Bellamy is in the middle of a dramatic story involving a deer with three heads while Octavia and Raven play some game where the goal is to, as far as Clarke can tell, stab your own fingers less times than the other person. Lincoln watches with mock disapproval and Monty comes by now and again for refills and to crack a joke at their expense. It still doesn't feel quite right and the moonshine is definitely going to her head, but even she has to admit that it's the most normal she's felt all week.

"The Mountain still has 'em."

A voice from behind her cuts into her consciousness, taking her away from her drifting thoughts at the mere mention of the fallen fortress. She doesn't turn around, but can guess who's speaking: there's a group of off-duty security officers at the table behind her, and as she focuses on the voice she can catch more of the conversation.

"No, yeah - we're not supposed to know, I don't think, but I overheard Pike talking. There's still loads of warheads in those silos," the voice continues to an unheard interlocutor. "Have you seen the old vids of them? Or - fuck, what _one_ of 'em did to Ton DC? The place is a fucking crater. Polis could be too, if we used more. And we've got more."

None of her friends seem to have heard this - and why would they, they're engaged in their stories or their games, not eavesdropping on others around them. None of her friends, that is, except for Lincoln. His dark eyes are boring into the table in front of him, his elbows pressed deliberately into the tabletop beside Clarke's. As she looks at him, his eyes flash up to hers; he can hear them, too.

Another says something that must be funny, because a number of voices laugh in response. The one Clarke can hear adds, "Glass the fucking place. Can't fight us if they're all dead."

Clarke snorts at the blatant assholery of that statement - not to mention the stupidity. Even if they bombed Polis and everyone in it, the rest of the Grounders would immediately realign themselves and turn on Arkadia. And it would be difficult to defend their comparably small city against the rest of the entire known world, to say the least. Which says nothing of the countless lives they would be responsible for ending. Not just warriors, but healers and farmers, shopkeeps and delegates. Nightbloods. Thousands of children.

One of the voices says something else under his breath that quite distinctly involves the phrase blackened Grounder meat, which is apparently the tipping point because Clarke more hears herself than actually decides to say, "Could you maybe shut the fuck up?"

There's sudden quiet as everyone near enough to hear - including Bellamy, who stops telling his story, and Octavia and Raven, who stop their game - turns to look at her. In the silence she twists around to face the guards at the other table, all of whom have done the same to her.

"What was that?" says a man with a sunburned face and dark hair, who sits with his back to her across the gap between tables. His is the voice she's been hearing this whole time, and after looking her up and down once he adds, "Princess?"

Good to know that nickname has persisted in her absence.

"Clarke..." Bellamy says cautiously. He apparently didn't need to see her eyes to know the murder quickly flowing into her veins.

"I feel like I was very clear," Clarke affects a nonchalance to her voice that somehow seems to accentuate her words rather than tone them down, "but let me try again. I said, shut - _the fuck_ \- up. Simple enough for your tiny brain to handle?"

The man and two of his security guard friends stand up in response to that, and Clarke rockets to her feet as well. The others don't look at all intimidated by that until her friends - Lincoln, Octavia, Raven, and Bellamy - stand as one behind her. 

"Walton," Bellamy says, turning his warning on the man across from Clarke now. This is a familiar face in the security corps, then. "You're on gate duty tomorrow. Think maybe it's time to turn in."

Walton's friends look between him, Clarke, and the four fight-ready folks standing behind her. Octavia cracks her neck from across the table, and Raven's hand is resting casually on a steel pitcher of water. Lincoln doesn't move, his size and gaze enough of a threat in themselves. Bellamy is the only one who doesn't look openly ready to knock skulls, but the badge shining on his own security uniform indicates just how hard he can pull rank over this relatively new recruit.

Eventually, Walton turns his head and spits. "Fine," he says, drawing his wrist over the back of his mouth. He swings his leg over his bench and his friends pick up their trays. "This Grounder-lover isn't worth our time, anyway. She'd just go crying to mommy."

It's clear to each of her friends that the only thing stopping Clarke from clocking Walton in the face is Bellamy's hand wrapped around her arm. Even then, he only holds her back long enough for the group of security guards to get a few paces away before letting her go.

Clarke glares at Bellamy but takes her seat beside Lincoln. Her friends visibly relax. "Asshole," she grumbles into her cup.

"So..." Octavia says. She picks up the knife Raven had dropped and twists it between her hands. "What the fuck was that about?"

"Yeah, Clarke," Raven chuckles, but the sound and the smile on her face are both tinged with wariness. "What _was_ that? You looked like you were about to rip his throat out."

"He was spouting shit he knows nothing about," Clarke growls in disgust. "Saying we should bomb Polis. Like that would really fix anything."

Raven at least knows some of what happened between Clarke and Lexa, but the rest of her friends can only guess. Octavia and Lincoln must have noticed that they don't show up to training together anymore, and even Bellamy hasn't brought her up much. So it's no surprise that Raven's look turns a little sympathetic — but everyone else looks just as unsure about her outburst as they did before.

"I'm sorry," she sighs and shoves her cup several inches farther away on the table. "I shouldn't have gotten in his face like that. Just pisses me off."

"Well yeah, it should," Octavia says with a shrug. "He's not the only one saying it. That we should attack first, like that'll solve anything."

"I know," Clarke sighs. It's been weighing on her for a while now, particularly the revelation that even if Lexa succeeds at her goal and kills Roan, her mother and the council will have lost a not insignificant amount of trust from Arkadia's citizens. While keeping them in the dark is obviously for their own good, the fact remains that their leadership has kept a crucial decision from them. Clarke imagines that won't go over well, and at the very least not lightly.

"Bell," Clarke turns her attention to the oldest Blake, who she realizes looks surprisingly thoughtful, "you spend the most time with them. How bad is it?"

Bellamy thumbs the rim of his cup, and lifts one shoulder in a small shrug. "They're just scared," he says. "That's what all that...bluster, I guess, boils down to. Everyone's terrified of what will happen if a war starts - every single one of us, from the drop ship to Farm Station, has seen what the Grounders are capable of. No one wants to fight that again. So if we strike first, if we scare them--"

Octavia snorts into her drink. "That's a pretty big 'if'."

"Then we can avoid a lot of us dying," Bellamy finishes flatly, shooting a glare at his sister.

"The goal is to avoid a lot of _everyone_ dying," Clarke reminds him. His sympathy for that kind of alarm raising surprises her, but maybe it shouldn't - it's not as if they've always agreed on what's best for their people. "We're in a precarious position, but it's far from hopeless. To throw a bomb into the mix now would destroy everything we're trying to do."

"I'm not suggesting we throw anything," Bellamy answers, and holds his hands up palms out, long fingers spread wide. "But it does feel a little like we should be doing _something_. Even if it's moving into the Mountain, or making our own alliances instead of waiting for _Trikru_ to do it for us."

"If I or any other representative from Arkadia were in Polis, we'd be lucky if we survived the day." The sheer reality of that inspires Clarke to take another sip. It's not as if she'd like to be sitting here, twiddling her thumbs - if there were any way for her to be there, representing their interests herself, she would be. "Without that presence, we have to rely on Helena and Indra's help. Their interests are the only ones we can be sure of - any other clan agreeing to ally themselves with us could easily turn their back the minute things go south. Without _Floukru_ and _Trikru_ to back us, we're still just outsiders - and people don't usually have a problem screwing over outsiders. Especially if their actions demonstrate preparations for a fight, like moving into the Mountain."

"Well, what do you call collecting troops at the border?" Bellamy asks, looking from Clarke to the others and back again. "We might not be able to see it, but we know _Azgeda's_ building an army. Those look like preparations for a fight to me."

"We're the only people who know Lexa is alive," Clarke shrugs. "Knowledge isn't exactly power, in this case. We know she's alive, so we have to stave off escalating a fight. Just because inaction is the best thing we can do doesn't mean we aren't making the right choices - it's just not very satisfying in the meantime."

"Right choice for who?"

Another voice calls from further down the table, and they turn as one to see Jasper and Monty seated a little ways down. The security forces weren't the only ones to pick up and leave after the almost-fight, and the bodies previously seated between them and Jasper have since vacated their spots. As such, the pair who had been previously preoccupied with their own game of cards now has a clear line of sight - and earshot, it seems - to Clarke and her group. Monty sits on Clarke's side of the table, and he throws an anxious glance down her way before reaching across to nudge the cards splayed in Jasper's hand.

"C'mon, man," he says, attempting to draw Jasper's attention back to the game, "it's your turn."

"No," Jasper answers, stacking his cards into a pile and folding his fingers around them, "I want to know how she justifies this. Right choice for who?"

"Whom," Bellamy mutters under his breath.

Clarke raises an eyebrow at Bellamy even as she answers, "For everyone. For our soldiers, in particular," she turns her eyes on Jasper with a thin calm, "and for Grounder warriors. All of whom would die if we were to start a war."

"Right, right. For everyone. For us and our survival, sure, but for the _Grounders_ too." He says the word with a sarcastic drawl that makes Clarke's skin crawl. "Wanna know what I think? I think we're putting ourselves at a whole lot of risk to get your girlfriend back on her throne."

"Jasper!" Monty hisses, but Jasper ignores him.

"We're putting ourselves at risk instead of allowing the scales to tip into open war," Clarke's glare could bore holes in Jasper's skull, "which seems like an important distinction to me. Declaring war would put us well past the concept of 'risk,' don't you think? Roan hopes to eradicate our people and Lexa is our ally, so while your assessment is both rude and overly simplistic, yes - that is the idea."

"We're already at war!" Jasper's voice jumps a decibel, but luckily no one around them seems to take notice. "We've _been_ at war. They've wanted to kill us since we got here, every fucking one of those animals. And we all sit around, twiddling our thumbs, for what? To give Lexa the chance to betray us again?"

Clarke's shoulders tense at the word 'animals,' and she can feel the muscles in Lincoln's arms coil into hard knots against the table beside her. "Not every Grounder wants us dead, Jasper. They just want to survive and live in the world they've created and not get bombed by people who dropped out of the sky. Why exactly am I the bad guy for wanting peace instead of violence?"

"Because your _peace_ is going to kill us all!" Jasper rages back.

" _War_ is going to kill us all!" Now Clarke is on her feet. She's not sure when exactly that happened, but she's definitely standing. "Peace will save us. What is so confusing about this? Seriously, tell me, because apparently I got lost somewhere in the genius clusterfuck of thoughts that led you here."

"She left us at the Mountain, Clarke!" Jasper yells in return, and finds his feet as well. Now heads are starting to turn, attention shifting to the raised voices of some of the few people who experienced the Mountain Men first hand. "Or did you fucking forget that? They are _all_ dead because of her. Maya is dead because - of - her! Because when shit hit the fan, her Grounders and her throne were more important to her than us. And when she gets her power back she'll do it again, mark my words. That is if Roan doesn't fucking run her through first!"

Again, something happens before Clarke can make a conscious decision. One second she's on her feet, hands balled into fists, but decidedly still several feet from Jasper - the next she's closed the distance between them by half and Lincoln's arm is not only holding her back, but straining to do so.

"I killed every single person in the Mountain," Clarke spits out. "Every. Single. One. Maya's death has been avenged, and things have changed. Lexa would rather die than betray us again, and if she does die trying to save everyone on this miserable continent from all out war, including _your_ ungrateful ass, then maybe you'll get your chance to bomb the hell out of innocent people. But not before," she shrugs Lincoln's hand away from her shoulder and he retracts it - if cautiously. "Not while I'm still breathing."

"Lower your voice," Lincoln cautions, and Clarke instinctively looks around at the faces looking right back at her. Too late, she realizes that Lexa's name has slipped out of her mouth for all of them to hear. More than once.

Jasper doesn't give nearly as much of a shit about that as Clarke suddenly does. "Maybe it would be better if you stopped," he answers in a snarl. His stance has shifted, his fists balled and weight on the balls of his feet, fully ready for Clarke to come at him again. Before either of them can move, however, Monty slams both of his palms on the table.

"Jasper!" he yells, standing up in the same motion and immediately drawing Jasper's full attention. "What the fuck, man??"

"You heard her!" Jasper answers, stabbing an accusatory finger in Clarke's direction. "She admits it! She killed Maya, and all those people. And now she'll kill us all too, if it gets her girlfriend what she wants. We'd all be better off without her!"

"We're all _alive_ because of her! You complete and total asshole!" Monty, usually the more level headed of the two, has gone fully red in the face. The tendons in his neck stand out as he screams at Jasper. "You'd still have a spear in your chest if it wasn't for her! Or been murdered by Grounders before everyone else even got here! Or tortured to death by the Mountain Men!"

Apparently at a loss for a response but unwilling to admit it, Jasper lifts his cup of moonshine to his mouth and drinks as Monty speaks, prompting Lincoln to say, "I think you've had enough." In response, Jasper takes his still half-full cup and chucks it and its contents down the table at Lincoln. 

It clatters across the wood and splashes Clarke and Lincoln both with the sharp stench of alcohol. " _Fuck_ you, Grounder," Jasper spits.

Clarke is halfway to lunging for him again, but before she can close the distance Monty has thrown his own cup all across the front of Jasper's shirt. 

"You colossal dick," Monty tells him, slams his cup down on the table, and swings his leg over his bench. 

"Monty..." Jasper says, but Monty doesn't acknowledge him. As Monty proceeds to stomp away, Jasper looks between his retreating back and the others. He levels a final sneer at Clarke and Lincoln before turning himself to chase after the other man. "Monty! Come on, wait a second--"

"Shit," Clarke growls, more to herself than to anyone around her. She downs the dregs of whatever swill that passes for a drink that remains in her cup. "I'm going to bed. See you guys later."

No one tries to stop her - if anything, her friends look almost relieved to hear her say that she's leaving. A fact which might piss her off at any other time, but now just makes her sad. And then being sad _does_ piss her off. Clarke stalks away, realizing halfway back to Alpha that she still has the cup in her hand.

Clarke's first experience of the following morning is only 'the morning' in a literal sense. Four hours after passing out she wakes with a raging headache and hurls her guts out onto the floor beside her bed. The smell combined with the headache renders continued sleep impossible, so she drags herself down the dormitory hallways until she finds a supply closet. After mopping up her own vomit and disinfecting the floor, the sun is just peaking through the thin window nestled against the ceiling. Clarke is exhausted and miserable, but for the moment also annoyingly awake. She manages to pull on a fresh shirt and pants, taking three times as long as usual to do so. Washes her face with soap, pulls her hair back in a way that hopefully looks purposeful and not like a necessity to hide streaks of sweat, and makes her way out of Alpha Station.

With no idea what she should be doing, her feet take her on the same path they always do in the morning: to the training field. But she's earlier than usual, and instead of the quiet of morning she's greeted with the sounds of wood smacking wood, followed by all-too-familiar grunts of pain and growls of frustration.

Octavia leans against the equipment crates with her usual morning cup of something warm and steaming, impassively watching as her partner and Clarke's come together over and over in an increasingly furious sparring match. It's clear that this has been going on for some time already, as both Lexa and Lincoln drip with sweat despite the temperate morning air. Both fighters wear tank tops that cling to them in places with gathered sweat; Lexa's is black and Lincoln's a deep green, and both reveal to the eye a fair amount of tattooed and muscled skin. Clarke has an all too brief moment of appreciation before the look on Lexa's face wipes all of that away.

There is no patience in those green eyes this morning, no trace of her characteristically stoic self control. Clarke can tell that her side pains her; she regularly moves just a little too slowly, movements that her body knows without her thinking about it rendered clumsy and incomplete by the weakness of her muscles. The stick Lincoln wields, little more than a vaguely straight tree branch with its twigs ripped off, finds her more than once in the time Clarke watches. 

" _Watch your feet, Commander_ ," Lincoln tells her in Trigedasleng, but that only draws a roar of rage in response.

" _DO NOT CALL ME THAT!"_ Lexa bellows, and Clarke knows this is not the first, or even tenth time, that Lexa has told him that. She flings herself forward, more animal than fighter, and attempts to bring her boot down on Lincoln's knee in a vicious attack that could have seriously injured him - if it landed. Instead Lincoln steps back, and when Lexa's weight comes down on that foot and off balance, he holds his stick between both hands and cross checks her. The force of it sends her sprawling to the ground with a cry.

Clarke cringes at the way Lexa's body crumples in on itself. It's an unpleasant sight to see anyone so frustrated with their own body's limitations, but it hurts exponentially more to see it in the woman she loves. Much as her brain has been flipping dizzyingly from wanting to wring Lexa's neck to desperate to press her up against a wall and fuck her, Clarke would still fix all of this for her if she could. If there were any way to fast forward and magically mend her injuries - restore her muscles to their old strength, her self-confidence to its usual, quiet heights - Clarke would do it in a heartbeat. But, of course, she can't. And neither can Lincoln, obviously.

"What can I bribe you with to let me have some of that?" Clarke asks, and inclines her head at the cup in Octavia's hand. The younger Blake doesn't seem perturbed by Clarke's presence but she does look a little surprised. "Seriously, you name it, it's yours."

Though Clarke speaks only to Octavia, at a conversational tone from only a foot away, her voice must carry in the early morning stillness; Lexa looks up from where she's sprawled in the grass and catches sight of her. All at once the other woman is on her feet again.

"We're finished here," she snaps, and chucks her branch to the ground. It bounces twice before coming to a stop at Lincoln's feet, and by that time, Lexa has already stalked off.

Lincoln looks from the stick at his feet to the women standing off to one side, and sighs. "Training is going well," he tells them, before bending to pick the branch up. 

Octavia just hands Clarke her cup, without saying a word or asking for anything in return.

Clarke gratefully takes several gulps, ignoring the way the liquid scalds her throat. "For what it's worth, she looks better. She's getting stronger," she nods at Lexa's back, already over a dozen yards away, "and faster."

"Hooraaaaaaay," Octavia mutters sarcastically.

That is the first time Clarke has seen Lexa in any way that approaches "face-to-face" in days. She fully expected it to be another week before it happened again - and so imagine her surprise when she returns to her room in Alpha later that night to find Lexa already there.

Clarke had intended to just drop off her things at the end of a long day of work, freeing her up to go sit with the others at the bar for a few hours. Instead she finds herself rooted to the floor, arrested by the sight of Lexa's black hoodie and thick ponytail bent over her open footlocker. Lexa looks just as surprised to see her; she whips around at the sound of the opening door, shifting her weight from a crouch onto one knee and a flat foot as though preparing to push to her feet and flee. Instead she just looks up at Clarke with alarm in her eyes, and hugs a book from the footlocker protectively to her chest.

"Are you--" Clarke shuts her mouth quickly, absolutely unsure what she was about to ask. She blinks a few times, as if that will somehow reset her brain, and tries again. "What are you doing?"

"Retrieving a book I left," Lexa answers, and the words are easy and normal enough. But her tone has an edge to it, as though she half expects, or half wants, a bomb to go off right there between them. She gets to her feet and tucks the book under her arm. "Not to worry, though. I was just leaving."

"I see that," Clarke crosses her arms over her chest and takes a step farther into the room - directly between Lexa and the door. "What book was is so important that you felt like you had to sneak in here when - I'm assuming - you thought I wouldn't be around?"

Lexa's eyes move over Clarke's shoulder, eying the door like a thief whose escape route has just been cut off. "Any book would have merited that," she answers, but holds her arm out to one side to show Clarke the cover. It's immediately and intimately familiar to Clarke: a collection of Shakespeare's poems from the Ark library. "But this one is Avery's. She would like it returned."

"So she sent you to get it? I find that hard to believe." The book sparks another memory - one that feels like it's been buried under pebbles and sand that Clarke will have to dust off before she can recall the fine edges. It's not so faded that it doesn't bring a spark of pain to her chest, though. "Avery finds me herself, usually in the middle of my work, to complain about overdue books. Why are you really here?"

"Because I wanted the book for myself first." Exasperation lifts Lexa's shoulders. "Is that alright with you?"

"You haven't had enough of Shakespeare over the years?"

It's a fairly pathetic jab, all things considered - and petty at that. But Clarke is far from caring how she sounds or in what tone words tumble from her lips. The churning mass of anger and confusion and frustration that's been brewing in her chest for weeks now has finally reached its peak - and Clarke has never been very good at keeping those feelings inside to begin with. "Look," she says, and loosens her crossed arms long enough to realize she doesn't want to and reasserts them in front of her, "we're going to have to talk to each other again eventually. Now seems as good a time as any."

"Does it?" Lexa asks, and for all the attitude in her voice, it's an honest question. Lexa is never anything but honest. "I hadn't planned to see you until two minutes ago - I am not exactly prepared."

Clarke rolls her eyes. "I didn't realize you needed to prepare a presentation to have a conversation with me."

Irritation flashes in Lexa's eyes, because they both know damn well that isn't what she meant. "I do if we do not want it to turn immediately into a fight," she says anyway.

"Why does it have to immediately be a fight?" Clarke counters. She takes another step forward and feels crudely pleased when Lexa takes half a step back. "You've had plenty of time to think about what you want to say to me, so just say it. The sooner you do, the sooner we can get over all of this."

"I would rather not be cornered into this," Lexa declares, and tucking the book against her side again, she tries to push her way past Clarke.

" _Cornered?"_ Clarke's arm moves faster than either of them anticipated it could. In a moment it moves from tucked across her chest to stretched across the space between her body and the doorframe, effectively trapping Lexa inside before she has a chance to get past. "You make it sound like I did this on purpose. I haven't been able to get close to you for over a week" - not that she's tried very hard, but that's beside the point - "and now you're here. Let's talk. Or have you been having as hard a time finding your courage as you have with your other good qualities lately?"

There have been exactly two previous times that Lexa has given Clarke the glare of warning she gives her now, but this is the first time Clarke doesn't immediately waver. Lexa takes a step back. "My _courage?"_

If Clarke were thinking clearly, she would attempt to undo the damage she’s already done. If she were thinking clearly she probably wouldn’t have escalated this conversation so quickly in the first place - but she’s not thinking clearly. Thinking feels impossible. All Clarke can do is feel, and the tide of anger and desperation roiling over her senses is just too strong to fight.

“Yes, your courage. You’ve been avoiding me - avoiding _this_ \- for days now. I didn’t realize you’d lost more than just your strength since we came here, but the old Lexa wouldn’t run away from this.”

"That is really something, coming from you," Lexa snaps. She doesn't look away from Clarke, even as she paces slowly to one side - looking for all the world like the caged panther she is. "You, who have avoided any kind of difficult conversation for _months_."

“I wasn’t _avoiding_ anything, I’ve just been trying to _protect you_ ,” Clarke half-shouts, at this point having entirely lost volume control. “Why is that so hard to believe?”

"Because it's _not protecting_ me! Clarke!" Lexa answers in kind, the hand not holding the book flung out to her side with the force of her words. "It isn't your _job_ to protect me!"

" _Yes it is!"_ Fist gripped around her own bedroom doorframe, Clarke barely keeps herself from getting in Lexa's face. "When are you going to get this through your thick-as-fuck skull? Protecting you is not only my job, it consumes the majority of my thoughts every single day!"

"Wonderful for you," Lexa answers. "Do you know what I spend my days thinking about? The world outside. The _thousands_ of lives that have entrusted their safety to me. And my partner who has decided that I am too weak, too incapable, to even hear about them!"

Clarke scoffs and releases her death grip on the metal of the door to step farther into the room. “I’m trying to take care of things so that you can recover! I just don’t understand why this is hard for you to grasp,” she can hear the way her voice adjusts from pure frustration to tinged with something that sounds disturbingly pleading. But she doesn’t stop - there’s no time, her mouth is moving faster than her brain. “I want you to get stronger and spend your energy focused on yourself, not all of the shit going on every day that you can’t control. How would that help, exactly? In what way would knowing troop movements and getting a debrief on political squabbles help you?”

" _I_ _t would make me feel like myself,"_ is the answer she gets. That tone is back in Lexa's voice - the one that sounds bitter and pained, more than outright enraged. "Which is something you would know if you took the time to _talk to me!_ But instead you have decided that you know what's best, and what I feel and think is beneath your notice."

"Oh sure, what you think and feel is _completely_ beneath my notice. It affects me not at all when you're angry about the way a training session went and refuse to talk to me about it or when you're miserable from the responsibilities you feel you have to people who don't even know you're still alive and disappear for hours at a time." Clarke rolls her eyes. "Of _course_ those things affect me - there's nothing you do or say that doesn't affect me, Lexa. But those reactions don't exactly scream to me that you need more stress added by information and decisions that are ultimately out of your control."

"No, they scream _that I need you!"_

The abrupt silence that follows that declaration tells Clarke that it surprised Lexa as much as it surprised her. Lexa looks at her, drawn up short by her own words, and the tension in her jaw shifts visibly as she swallows. Perhaps she didn't mean to say it, or to express the sentiment in just such a way, but it's out of the bag now and she forges onwards.

"I don't need you to solve every problem for me before they get to me," Lexa says, and her voice wavers in a way Clarke hasn't heard in a very long time. "That isn't what I signed up for. When we started--" she waves at the space between them-- "All of _this_ , it was because I saw you as a partner. Someone who could understand what I have experienced, who could help me with that burden and who I could help in return. Not some - some fucking _caretaker_."

"But sometimes you need someone to take care of you!" Adrenaline hasn't stopped flooding Clarke's veins and suddenly it starts to feel a little wrong - like she would stop it, if she could. Like it doesn't fit the way she wants this conversation to go, but the words she wants won't form with so much energy pulsing through her. 

"I'm not going to let you hurt yourself or throw yourself into what is frankly a tenuous at best plan without as much preparation as I can give you. Focusing exclusively on not dying is what _I need you to do!"_ That admission feels like yet another surprise and Clarke hadn't meant to say it, but there's no stopping herself now. "This is all I can give you, why can't you see that? I can't put a bullet in Roan's head and I can't fix your body and I can't make everyone agree that you fighting Roan was a stupid way to decide who gets to be Commander in the first place, but I can deal with the bullshit in the meantime so that you don't have to."

"That is a hundred years of tradition that you're calling stupid," Lexa growls, even though they both know that any offense taken at that assessment is entirely beside the point.

"Oh, well _excuse_ me for insulting the doctrine that's forced me to advocate throwing the woman I love into a fight to the death!" Clarke bites back. "Really, how _dare_ I find fault with tradition that values bloodshed over peace, what a strange thing to be critical of, I wonder if anyone else has thought of how dumb that is." At this point Clarke has moved well into Lexa's space, enough that they're barely a foot apart. Enough that Clarke can see the darker flecks of green in her eyes, the way they catch the fluorescent light. "You're impossible."

" _I'm_ impossible??" Lexa repeats, those green eyes going wide. She doesn't back down, her back straightening as she prepares to hold her ground. " _You're_ the one acting like no one else has skin in this game - like I'm not scared of that fight, too!"

"Well you aren't exactly known for demonstrating concern for your own life!" At this point it would truly be a miracle if anyone in the adjoining rooms hasn't heard them, and the furthest thing from Clarke's mind is modulating her volume. "You got shot in the stomach and seemed completely unsurprised!"

"Because I always expected to die, Clarke!" Lexa answers, and both her hands go out to her sides with the force of the declaration. As though the strain in her voice alone wasn't enough to convey the painful obviousness of that fact. "This is the first time I have ever actually been afraid of it! And it's because _of you!"_

Clarke is not known for her restraint. Her intelligence, sure - she's methodical, hard-working, and at her best under pressure. But she's also impatient and impulsive, acts with instinct over everything else. And it's instinct, not careful planning, that drives her feet forward now. 

She closes the distance between them in a heartbeat and wraps an arm possessively around Lexa's torso in the next, pulling the other woman roughly against her chest. There's enough time to identify the look of utter and complete surprise on Lexa's face before Clarke's other hand closes around the back of her neck and their lips crash together.

Lexa trips backwards, something - a wastebasket - overturning as she struggles for balance. Her back hits the wall just behind her, arresting their movement and sending Clarke's weight crashing against her, hip to hip, chest to chest, Clarke's arm crushed between the wall and the small of Lexa's back, Lexa's hands and a book pinned between their torsos. Through all of it, the desperate press of lips and a longing Clarke had disguised for so long she didn't recognize it any more, she doesn't realize Lexa is struggling until she's shoved bodily away.

It takes several seconds, but Lexa manages to get her hands on Clarke's stomach and shoulder and, bracing herself against the wall, she pushes Clarke off of her with a strength they'd both forgotten she'd had. Clarke stumbles backwards, and Lexa stays pressed to the wall.

"What _the fuck,_ Clarke?" she demands. They stand panting at each other across a two foot gulf. It's all Clarke can do to look at her, and hear the rush of her blood in her ears, and feel the sudden knife of fear in her chest when she realizes what she's done.

But the fear barely has time to manifest as a coherent thought before the book of Shakespeare's poems hits the ground with a _thump_. She can't even formulate the question, _does Lexa want this?_ before the woman herself has crossed the space between them, flung her arms and all their new muscle around Clarke's neck, and kissed her with a force that cuts the inside of her lip on her teeth.

It doesn't hurt. It's not the mix of pain and desire that Clarke is used to - it's only pleasure, all excitement and energy. There's no room for pain. All of the frustration and desire and helplessness of the last month don't disappear, but coalesce into one enormous, uncontainable feeling that's all-consuming. Something inside her - something that was always there, waiting, pacing like a caged animal in the depths of her heart - finally snaps and cracks open.

Clarke's tongue eagerly slips between Lexa's lips and her arms find their way back around Lexa's waist. One pulls her hips closer while the other slips under her hoodie and presses between Lexa's shoulder blades, keeping their bodies as physically close as possible. The shirt Lexa wears beneath is thin, washed and worn to a slim collection of fibers over the years, and does nothing to protect her from Clarke's fingernails as they rake down across her back. Clarke swallows her hiss of pain and takes the opportunity to bite Lexa's lip none-too-gently in return.

The Clarke of twenty minutes ago wouldn't have done so much as shove Lexa's shoulder playfully, but this Clarke pushes her roughly back against the wall they'd stumbled into before. Again, Clarke's own hand takes a significant amount of the force, but the pain is a passing thought before her hands find new purpose in tugging Lexa's shirt free of her pants.

Lexa is already in the process of removing her own hoodie, her hands moving as best they can between the press of their bodies to find the thicker hem hanging about her hips. It takes some effort to ruck it up her torso, made even harder by their mutual impatience; neither her nor Clarke are in any way interested in creating the space that would make this easier. The best she can do is turn her head, letting Clarke's mouth trail insistently over her cheek and jaw, and in that moment to catch her breath and focus she manages to pull the sweatshirt up to her arms. When Clarke pulls away, the sweatshirt comes up and over in one direction, and the t-shirt beneath goes up and over in the other. It hardly hits the floor before Lexa's lips are on hers again, and her hands are pulling at the close of Clarke's pants.

It's less that Clarke tries to stop her and more that what she does next makes it impossible for Lexa to continue. Unsatisfied with the access standing provides, Clarke grasps Lexa's hips and half guides, half bodily lifts Lexa around until her back is to Clarke's bed. Lexa has never been particularly heavy, but she's lighter even than Clarke remembers - and there's a strange sort of satisfaction she takes from having, for once, the upper hand in strength between the two of them. Not that Lexa has a lot of time to be impressed, if she noticed at all, because one small step back brings her knee up against the bed and tilts her off balance enough that she's forced to sit down. Which is just as well, at least in Clarke's mind. She presses a knee to either side of Lexa's hips, straddling her lap and forcing Lexa to crane her neck up to keep their lips pressed together. But this new position does leave Lexa's hands available again, and Clarke can feel the tail of her belt slip from around her waist.

It snaps against itself as Lexa yanks it through its belt loops like a ripcord, her arm flung out to one side to get the length of it free. Clarke pays it little mind, as she's now fully in reach of Lexa's bandeau and fully plans to make quick work of it. She pulls it off by touch alone, the heat of Lexa's mouth and the smooth, now uninterrupted plane of her back all-consuming - until the cool touch of leather on the back of her neck breaks through the haze.

The shock of it causes Clarke to jerk away, just for a second. Just long enough to catch sight of Lexa's eyes, shining with a wickedness that bleeds into the crooked smirk that hangs from her lips. She has the ends of the belt wrapped around either of her hands, and the remainder of the leather looped around the back of Clarke's head to press against the nape of her neck. She holds Clarke's gaze with an intensity that dares her to look away as she tips her weight backwards, her arms locked at her sides and pulling the belt along with her. Clarke is dragged down under the press of the leather on her neck, shifting until they are both horizontal on the bed.

If Clarke's insides hadn't already flipped themselves into knots at Lexa's sudden closeness before, they are well and truly snarled into a hopeless, tangled mess as she pulls Clarke down on top of her. Even in this state, Clarke is aware of Lexa's injury and holds up some of her own weight with her arms, palms planted solidly on either side of Lexa's head. The renewal of her daily training routine immediately pays off - there's no way she would be able to maintain this position for long without it, particularly with Lexa still insistently pulling her down.

Clarke smirks back and twists her lips around Lexa's mouth at the last second, opting instead to kiss and nip her way down Lexa's jaw and neck. Nips quickly turn to sharp, methodical bites. The way Lexa's chest rapidly rises and falls and her breath catches each time Clarke's teeth close around her skin sends goosebumps along Clarke's arms - and then suddenly, Lexa stills. Concern floods Clarke's system immediately, but when she raises her head up Lexa is just looking over her shoulder back at the doorway - the open doorway, Clarke now realizes.

Lexa's eyebrows are raised in a very clear question: _'what are we going to do about this?_ ' Clarke just shrugs, her smirk widening, and returns to her ministrations down Lexa's throat and onto her shoulder.

 _"For Flame's sake,"_ Lexa mutters in Trigedasleng, and Clarke can hear the roll of her eyes in her voice. The pressure from the belt disappears as Lexa lets it go, the weight of its buckle sending it clinking into the bed beside them as, with one hand on Clarke's shoulder for leverage, Lexa stretches the other out to grab at something from Clarke's bedside table. She has to strain to do it, her back arching upwards and pressing her chest into Clarke's mouth - which she is more than okay with - but after a second of scrambling her fingers latch onto a thick, heavy metal mug Clarke has been using for tea. 

Clarke only knows that's what it is, of course, because a second after Lexa has hold of it the hand on her shoulder moves up the back of her neck. Lexa twists her fingers into the hair at the base of Clarke's neck and pulls, making Clarke arch backwards with a gasp. That leaves Lexa enough room to heft the mug, take aim over Clarke's shoulder, and launch it at the keypad beside the door. It clangs into the wall and magically succeeds in hitting the right button to send the door whooshing closed again. "There," she sighs, and releases her hold on Clarke's hair.

“Impressive,” Clarke murmurs, quite honestly. It’s been a while since she’s witnessed Lexa’s full physical capabilities. This was more skill than strength, but still - even just watching her arm strain to throw a heavy object had Clarke’s heart hammering harder in her chest. The thought gives her an idea. One that makes the blood beneath her skin sing in anticipation.

“But I’d prefer it if you kept these here,” Clarke purrs as she slides her fingers up the length of Lexa’s arms, slowly but not altogether gently moving them until they lie loosely above her head. “In fact...”

This part Clarke hasn’t quite thought through...that is, until her eyes land on her belt, now discarded beside them. She sits back on her haunches astride Lexa’s hips and wraps one end of the belt around her own wrist. Loops it through the buckle, around and back again. Purses her lips and eyes the pipe behind Lexa’s head, still stubbornly dividing the bed from the wall.

Clarke meets Lexa’s now openly curious eyes. “Do you trust me?”

Curiosity flashes to uncertainty, the question enough to make Lexa realize the belt is -somehow - for her. She eyes the loop of leather warily and takes a slow breath in. This wouldn't have been much of a question just a few months ago, but after all this...

When Lexa's eyes meet Clarke's again, there's a weight behind the look that makes her catch her breath. "I do."

Somehow that makes Clarke’s stomach drop in a way that nothing else that’s happened in the past ten minutes has. Or maybe the past year. She swallows, hard. Then smiles deviously. “Good.”

Clarke takes a moment to scrutinize the task before her. To see the work in her mind’s eye, completed, before she begins. Then she moves up Lexa’s body, slowly. Kisses her way up her stomach, takes her time across her breasts and makes her way up Lexa’s collarbone and over her chin until she reaches her mouth. “Hold still,” Clarke breathes against her lips.

When Clarke sits back up she has the incomparable view of a rare, serene Lexa - which she promptly startles into yet more surprise as she pulls the belt tight around one of Lexa’s wrists. “You can trust me,” Clarke whispers, and maneuvers the tail of the belt back through the buckle to make an additional figure eight loop to cinch around her left wrist. “I promise.” 

The slack is just barely enough to wrap around the pipe and, as Clarke gently pulls Lexa’s arms higher above her head, she’s able to slip the last hole through the buckle. Which leaves Lexa with her arms stretched tight above her head, her torso elongated in the most delicious possible way. Her muscles, not as prominent as they used to be, still stand out in her biceps and along her stomach. The sight is enough to make Clarke dizzy with desire.

Her triceps strain as Lexa tries the strength of the restraints, her head craning upwards and to one side in an effort to see them. Her pectorals shift, her collarbones stand out, her neck lengthens; Clarke finds herself unable to resist tracing the dark ink of the tattoo on her side, fingers passing over the striations in the tree's bark as though she could feel their texture. Muscle shifts again and she knows without looking that Lexa is watching her now, attention drawn back by the brush of fingertips against sensitive skin...but by something else, as well. As Clarke's hand moves further down her torso, the tension beneath it increases. Lexa is holding her breath, every part of her held as still as she can manage, and it takes a beat for Clarke to see through her own lust and realize why.

Inches away from where her hand is now, Lexa's skin puckers and darkens. The scar left by the scalpel's incision has already started to fade, joining the myriad of marks that criss cross Lexa's skin - leaving the mark of the entry wound to stand out in its own horrible relief. Clarke realizes with a twist of her stomach that this is the first time she's been close to it in weeks, having more or less stopped going with Lexa to her checkups and staying on the far side of the room when she occasionally did. The raised edges of the scar, all twisted and rough tissue, will fade over time. But for now, Lexa watches her look at it, with what could only be described as fear in her eyes.

Clarke takes her time. Her fingertips move from one line to the next, carefully tracing the raised curves and jagged ridges of skin where her wound had closed up. It used to terrify Clarke, to look at it. A physical reminder of what she almost lost. But now it fills her chest with warmth to touch Lexa's healed skin. It's still twisted and angry, still forming itself back together. But it _is_ together. Lexa is here, with her, and suddenly all Clarke can feel when she looks at it is thankful.

But Lexa clearly isn't able to read her thoughts. She still looks warily at Clarke's fingers as they trace lazy lines around her stomach, and the tension in her abdominal muscles hasn't lessened. If anything they feel taught as a bow, ready to snap at a wrong word or gesture. So Clarke does what her instincts tell her to do. She lowers her body gently on top of Lexa's, careful to pay attention to any change in the woman below her. When she presses her lips against the taut scar tissue, Clarke can feel every muscle in Lexa's body tense. But then, slowly, they relax as Clarke makes her way around the wound with featherlight kisses, taking her time to memorize every rough edge and curved line of tissue with her tongue. Eventually she follows Lexa's tattoo along the length of her side, trailing kisses all the way up until she finally finds her mouth again.

Clarke is done treating her like she's made of glass. Lexa was hurt, but she's here. She's alive and healthy and still stronger than Clarke, in more ways than one. Clarke reminds herself, over and over, to pay attention - to hear any sudden change in her breath, to sense the difference between true pain and tension built from desire. But for the first time since she woke up in the med ward, Clarke leaves it up to Lexa to let her know what she needs.

And so, with her entire length pressed against Lexa - knee conveniently pressed between her legs, tongues entwined - Clarke not only can't help herself, but she doesn't even try to stop. Gentleness falls away in the wake of yet more surging desire. Her right hand snakes beneath Lexa's taut shoulder blades to grip the nape of her neck, forcing Lexa to strain slightly to keep their lips together as the rest of their bodies press tightly together. Clarke's other hand grasps the inside of Lexa's right side, the edges of scar tissue pressed against her palm as she pulls Lexa even tighter against her.

She can feel the tension in Lexa's back like a shiver down her spine, devours the gasp that pulls from Lexa's throat with an appetite that pools between her legs. She knows the electric charge of feeling that Lexa is experiencing now: her body stretched out taut, helplessly exposed, her muscles feeling like they're straining just to keep her body together. The way that strain made it feel like each breath was a fight - even when it wasn't - and the not-quite deprivation serving only to sharpen the sting of every bite, the scrape of every nail. But the last time they played a game like this, back in Polis when the world was blanketed in snow, her hands weren't tied to a pipe. She could still grip things, push her hands and arms into the ground to shift and move as needed. Lexa is even more helpless yet, but whatever trepidation held her moments ago has long since melted away.

Heat floods Lexa's skin, pink spreading from the black tongues of the Flame on her breastbone clear up her neck as her body shifts to accommodate Clarke's pull. Her hips lift, pressing to Clarke's thigh in the process, and every time Clarke shifts she gets another little gasp in response. For someone so accustomed to control, Lexa is surprisingly pliant in Clarke's hands, giving herself over entirely and without restraint - and Clarke's body thrills at the power being given to her. It would appear the roughness of her hands and mouth are the opposite of 'too much,' as each touch brings another desperate little shift to follow it. Lexa's hands open and close in their restraints as though aching to catch Clarke's and guide them, and whenever Clarke's thigh moves too far away it's all Lexa can do to lift her hips in search of it again. Unable to push Clarke or pull back herself, she can only drag her face up when she's out of breath, leaving Clarke free to kiss and suck and bite down her neck as she pleases. It is in just such a moment when Lexa, panting, red faced, breathes two little words and presses herself desperately against her:

"Clarke - please."

Clarke lands a harsh bite to the side of Lexa's jaw and her plea trails off in a hiss of pain. She smiles against Lexa's skin and nuzzles under her chin with her nose in a short, soft gesture - before pressing her fingernails into Lexa's sides and pulls them down the length of her ribs and hips, pink lines following in their wake.

Lexa's pants are loose on her thin frame and the button holding them closed easily flips open. Unwilling to be apart for more time than is absolutely necessary, Clarke makes short work of sitting up, yanking them off along with her underwear, and discarding them. It's about four seconds that Clarke allows herself to drink in the view in front of her. Four seconds to admire every curve of Lexa's body, every inch of her exposed skin. Four seconds to appreciate that this woman is _hers_. And then she refocuses. This isn't about her pleasure, after all. Not yet, anyway.

The characteristic henley Clarke wears is easily ripped up and over her head, bra easily discarded. But she takes her time, enjoys the way Lexa's eyes grow dark and watch her every move with an intensity only Lexa could manage. When she finally moves back to her position above Lexa, holding her weight again above her with her arms, green eyes rove shamelessly across her chest and stomach. Clarke grins and presses herself back against Lexa's frame, sighing as their bare skin touches for the first time in months.

"Was that what they call 'being a tease?'" Lexa asks, breathless as she pushes her torso up into Clarke's - as though making up for the fact that she can't touch her with her hands.

"I don't know," Clarke teases Lexa's nipple between her teeth, biting down before letting it go and moving on to the next. "Was it?"

Lexa's answer comes in the form of a whine as Clarke methodically continues her ministrations. With her mouth occupied, the arm not supporting her weight is free to roam down the length of Lexa's body. Along her thighs, between her legs... Lexa's muscles all seem to twitch at once as Clarke slides a featherlight finger over her clit. "Fuck," she breaths, entirely involuntarily, against Lexa's skin as her fingers discover the wetness between Lexa's legs. When she slowly inserts a finger inside, Lexa groans above her.

When she recovers her voice, Lexa pants: "Agreed."

There isn't much Lexa can do, except lay her head back and allow Clarke to touch her as she pleases - and that's precisely what she does. Her teeth and tongue play over Lexa's stomach, sucking bruises into her skin and making her squirm away from the pain, only for her finger to press into the top of her and make her squirm the other way. When it looks like Lexa is beginning to catch her breath again, Clarke presses a second finger deep into her and drinks in the way her back arches in response. She was hardly gentle before and is none too gentle now, and she loops an arm under the small of Lexa's back and holds her hips steady as she picks up the pace. Unable to move, the sensation has to find another way out of Lexa: it comes in sounds that grow steadily in volume, and in hands that twist around the section of leather tying her to the pipe, desperate for something to hang on to.

As much as Clarke would happily bring Lexa to climax with the full, glorious view of her body that she has right now, she has other priorities. With her eyes half-closed, Lexa feels more than sees Clarke unwind her arm from around her hips. Her fingers don't stop moving within her, but they slow long enough for Clarke to maneuver herself between Lexa's legs. Presumably Lexa has caught on by now, but Clarke doesn't bother to check - instead she closes her mouth over Lexa's clit and sucks it in between her teeth, savoring the moan the action elicits from the woman above her.

The hindrance of the restraints makes Lexa's other movements that much more violent. Every stroke of Clarke's tongue elicits a buck of her hips or twist in her spine, causing her to spend more energy than she'd like readjusting. After a particularly wild spasm, Clarke growls in frustration and throws her free arm across Lexa's hips to press down on her pelvis. The strength required is a distraction itself, but between the pressure of Clarke's arm forcing her down and her two fingers still curled up inside of her, pressing forward against the back of her clit, Lexa is well and truly at Clarke's mercy. Leaving Clarke plenty of time and energy to focus on the task at hand.

She dips lower for a second, drawing wetness up from her fingers to Lexa's clit and soaking her chin in the process. The taste of Lexa explodes across her tongue and heads straight for the deepest part of her, and she moans even as the small circles she draws on Lexa's core makes the other woman shudder in turn. Clarke shifts her weight forward, pushing more of it onto her forearm and across Lexa's hips, her thumb dug somewhere in the inside crease of Lexa's hipbone. The harder she presses the louder Lexa moans, and the more she tries to twist.

"Fuck, _Clarke,_ " she pants, the words cut short by a sudden, aching cry. If anyone had heard them arguing before, they very likely knew what they were up to now.

Lexa's grip on the belt shifts, and she presses her shoulder blades into the bed in an attempt to give herself some leverage. She manages to move her hips down once, twice, pushing herself onto Clarke's fingers just a little faster, before Clarke's grip reasserts itself and she's forced to stop again. She is all for giving Lexa what she wants and needs, but she will be _damned_ if this is cut even a second short; Lexa will need to endure every touch, every agonizingly minute step of building pleasure before Clarke is satisfied. So she maintains her pace, and there is nothing Lexa can do to hasten the end.

Not that Clarke is trying to deprive her of that, of course. She can tell when Lexa gets close, her breath coming even faster and the pitch of her moans slightly higher, her body trembling with the mounting pressure. She breathes pleas, begging Clarke not to stop - and Clarke obeys, her tongue and fingers pressing in tandem to either side of Lexa's clit with the same quick, steady pressure as before. And when Lexa comes, thighs closing around Clarke's ears and hips straining upwards, Clarke holds her steady and continues to fuck every last roiling moan from her.

Eventually, Lexa is reduced to small murmurs and shudders as Clarke’s tongue laps languidly up and down, coaxing her muscles into relaxation. Clarke extracts her fingers slowly and licks them clean before making her way back up Lexa’s body. 

Her own arms tremble slightly from the exertion, but it’s a satisfying ache. Lexa looks exhausted and serene, green eyes barely open enough to track Clarke’s movements. It’s tempting to leave her like this, as delicious a sight as it is - but Clarke doesn’t hesitate and sits up on her knees again to unclip the belt buckle keeping Lexa’s arms in place.

She quickly unravels the makeshift belt cuffs and guides Lexa’s arms gently back down below her head. “Are you okay?” she asks, and kisses the raw-looking red skin on the inside of one of her wrists.

"Do you think--" Lexa starts, until her arms come down over her head and her shoulders rotate for the first time in a minute, at which point she breaks off with an _ah_ sound and a wince. "Do you think...it is possible for a person's bones to melt entirely into liquid?"

“I hope not,” Clarke chuckles. Her expression softens as Lexa stretches the length of her body and winces as her side pulls. She doesn’t comment on it though, only rubs the inside of Lexa’s wrists with her thumbs. “But if that’s how you’re feeling now, I hope it’s a good feeling.”

"It is," Lexa breathes. Clarke's thumb hits a sore spot and she grunts softly. "It is. Though this was all rather...unexpected."

"Yeah..." Clarke at least has the decency to look a little sheepish. "For me too, honestly." She shifts her body over Lexa's, careful not to jostle her side, and nuzzles into the space between her and the wall. "Can't say I regret it, though."

Lexa presses her full palm to the bare skin of Clarke's back as soon as it's in reach, her arm looping over Clarke's shoulder and around her shoulder blade to do it. "No - of course not," she says, and a small grin flashes across lips made swollen by kissing. Clarke absently flicks her tongue against the small cut in the back of her own lip, just to feel the slight sting of it. "I am glad for it. I...I missed you, Clarke. I have for some time. I just haven't known how to tell you."

"I've missed you, too," Clarke sighs into Lexa's touch, already pliant in her hands. "Fuck, you have no idea. I think I was close to exploding," she kisses Lexa's nose and grins back. "Maybe I did, maybe that's what that was."

Just as quickly, Clarke's smile fades. Remembering how they got here - what they were just doing before hormones wholly took over her senses. She clumsily props herself up no one elbow, the better to look directly into Lexa's eyes. "I'm sorry it's been so long. I was scared that you weren't ready, and then I just... I guess I kept being scared. I should have asked you how you felt. I should have asked you how you felt about a lot of things."

"I imagine 'terrified' would have been the general answer," Lexa admits sheepishly. "In everything. Healing, training - existing, even. I was even afraid..." But her voice drifts off, and as her face darkens with a blush, her eyes move elsewhere.

Clarke trails her free hand down Lexa's sternum, comforting herself as much as anything else with the familiar feel of her skin. "Of what?" she asks softly.

The color in Lexa's face grows deeper and she closes her eyes, as though she has to steel herself for this admission. "That you wouldn't be able to see me like..." she gestures at the length of her naked body. "This. Again."

Clarke is so surprised by this admission that it takes her a moment to process it. Her fingers still on Lexa's stomach and her eyes pull together in a frown. "Really? That's...well, insane. I mean not that you're insane, obviously, just..." she moves her hand again to close around Lexa's hip and draw her a little closer. "I can't imagine not being attracted to you. I just wanted you to get stronger and healthier, not sexier." Clarke wrinkles her nose and smirks as the word leaves her mouth. "If you got any sexier it might kill me."

That earns a chuckle from Lexa, who opens her eyes to look at Clarke with misty eyes. When she blinks, twin tears roll down from the outside corner of both and disappear into her hairline. "Or me, for that matter," she hums, and tucks her head into Clarke's shoulder. Clarke relaxes her arm a little, resting some of the weight of her head against Lexa's forehead and temple. "If this is how you reacted when I am not even as...sexy." Clarke feels more than sees Lexa's nose scrunch in turn at the term. 

"But I couldn't know for certain. I...I couldn't lift a sword. Couldn't stand or walk on my own. Change my own clothes. And I have this..." Her hand drifts down over her own abdomen, the heel of her palm passing over the bullet's scar. Clarke feels Lexa's jaw tighten, hears her swallow. Is this the first time she's ever seen Lexa touch the spot? She feels more tears hit her shoulder.

"I couldn't know if you would ever look at me the same again."

It makes Clarke's heart ache to hear these things, particularly knowing there was something she could have done to prevent Lexa feeling this way. Or at least there might've been, if she'd known how Lexa felt. "All you would've had to do was ask," Clarke covers Lexa's hand with her own and squeezes. "All I've felt these past few weeks is relief. That you're alive, that I still have you. And yes, okay, I admit some frustration. Healing isn't exactly a smooth process and you have a way of getting under my skin."

Clarke punctuates her words with kisses on Lexa's cheek, down her jaw and around her chin. Things she hasn't been able to touch, let alone kiss, in what feels like ages. "I don't care if you never swing a sword again, I just want you here. Happy, healthy. Whatever that looks like. Besides, scars are just memories. Things we've overcome to get to where we are." She brings Lexa's hand with her as she lifts her arm up and twists it so that the misshape scars on her skin face Lexa. "You don't think less of me for these, do you?"

"Well no," Lexa answers with a flash of a smile and a ghost of a laugh. She rolls to one side to get her other hand free, and then closes both around Clarke's lifted hand and wrist. "Obviously not. But this felt...different, somehow. I should have asked you, I wanted to talk about it - but I could never bring myself to do it. I didn't know how. Especially when the answer I was expecting, the answer I was afraid of, was so..." Lexa rubs a thumb into the faint scars on Clarke's wrist. Clarke can practically see the tracks switching behind her eyes. "I didn't trust you."

"To tell you what I really thought," Clarke finishes for her with a nod. To hear the words aloud is a punch in the gut, but they aren't a surprise. "Right?"

Lexa shifts her shoulders and ducks her eyes. "Or...that what you really thought was my worst case scenario. That you didn't see me the same way. If you lied to me about it or told me the truth, either would have been painful."

Clarke leans forward and presses her forehead against Lexa's. Closes her eyes, exhales. She can feel Lexa's eyes flutter closed beneath her and wet drops fall onto her forearm.

"Nothing will ever change how I feel about you," Clarke whispers. It feels right and true, but it sounds like such a sweeping statement that she immediately feels the need to justify it. "I don't know what's going to happen, but I can't imagine a world where I don't want to fuck your brains out." Lexa's chest rumbles beneath her with a chuckle. "So if you ever find yourself worried about that again, please let me know and I will happily remind you how unnecessary that is."

"Will it always result in you tying me to a pipe?" Lexa asks, and beneath the wobble of her voice there's a teasing tone.

"That was a stroke of genius, I admit," Clarke glances up at the pipe in question and grins, already ecstatic at the idea of doing that again. "But I doubt there will always be a convenient pipe. Might have to get more creative."

Clarke feels Lexa's head push into her shoulder - then Lexa's shoulder into her chest, her hips into her thighs, all pushing Clarke onto her back despite her back being against the wall. It leaves Clarke humming "okay, okay" as she shifts to accommodate, rolling onto her back and letting Lexa situate herself half against, half on top of her side.

"Consider me your willing test subject," Lexa says, and tucks her nose against Clarke's collarbone.

Clarke emits a pleased hum, her body melting into Lexa's like it was just yesterday that they last did this instead of months ago. But something in Lexa's words sparks in her mind - a little light goes off in the part of her brain that not too long ago was enflamed in anger and frustration. Now it feels a lot more like guilt than anything.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the tests," she says. Though Clarke keeps her eyes on the ceiling, she can feel Lexa turn her head at the sudden change in subject. "I should have. I should've told you about a lot of things, I can see that. I was just so caught up in wanting to help...it felt like there was nothing else I could do, except take care of things. For you and for everyone. So that's what I focused on. Obviously I got a little...carried away, I guess."

For a moment, all Clarke gets in response is a hum. Then Lexa lays her head against the top of Clarke's breastbone, what remains of her ponytail spread across Clarke's shoulder. Her thumb passes over a sensitive patch of skin just above the close of Clarke's pants, and it takes a moment for Clarke to become accustomed enough to not shiver away from the touch. 

"I would have done the same," Lexa says eventually, the admission heavy and quiet in her voice. "I _did_ do the same. Kept you away from everyone, hoping to give you space and time to recover. But every time that realization came around I found a new way to rationalize it away; I gave myself the benefit of the doubt that I never wanted to give you. I was...just so _angry_. And hurting, and scared. And I have often been angry and hurt and scared, but never like this. I didn't trust anyone to fix it. Not myself, and not you."

"And I should have known that I _can't_ fix it," Clarke admits, though saying it out loud, even now, hurts more than she'd care to admit. "Not without you, anyway. Maybe instead of me guessing or you isolating yourself, you just tell me what you need when you need it. I'm still going to guess," she smiles a little sheepishly, "because I can't help myself, but if you try to tell me what you need I'll try to listen better."

Lexa lifts her head again, and this time Clarke doesn't avoid her gaze. She gets a soft smile in return. "That is a deal I can make," Lexa promises.

That night she falls asleep in Clarke's arms, and in the morning a careful equilibrium hangs in the air. Things aren't fixed, but they're on their way. And it leaves Clarke's heart feeling like it's full of helium for all the weight it takes off her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! Now. Who's up for some fluff?


	10. Time to Take a Shot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! Last chapter inspired some (frankly, dope as hell) conversation in the comments. If you're curious as to our thoughts on the matter, we've left a comment on Chapter 9 as well. Alternatively, if you're sitting here like, "Cloud, Tabby, we've read like 400,000 words from you, we really don't need to read more," then carry on! And...read...more...
> 
> Also: happy Clexa Week 2021! This...sorta counts for "Reunited," right? Just gals being pals with their idiot found family.
> 
> TW: Alcohol

In the days that follow, they both take care to put their promises into practice. Lexa no longer avoids her and Clarke no longer stays out of her way; they eat together, stay together in the tent, and - wonder of wonders - even sometimes have sex when the mood takes them. Clarke is still wary of Lexa's injury, and sometimes it does assert itself, but she is quick to remind herself that Lexa's body isn't made of glass. She's a little slower to remind herself that Lexa's mind isn't, either: on an evening after a particularly long day of work, Clarke is quick to answer dismissively when Lexa inquires about it. _It's nothing of interest, no big deal, don't worry yourself_. But all it takes is a pointed raise of Lexa's eyebrow for Clarke to catch herself.

"Right..." she breathes, closing her eyes. "Sorry." And as she begins to explain, Lexa smiles.

But after an hour of Clarke's attempts to fill Lexa in, rife with tangents and offshoots and double-backs as Lexa asks questions and Clarke remembers just how little she must know, it becomes evident that this will have to be a longer conversation. The next morning, instead of going to the clinic after their morning workout, Clarke takes Lexa back to her room in Alpha. There she lays out all of her notes from the last few months, taking Lexa step-by-step through the goings-on of the outside world. The work transforms Lexa: whatever sorrow she feels for herself evaporates, replaced by a sharpness in her eye and a speed of her thoughts that makes Clarke's heart ache with their familiarity. Lexa even takes up pacing, the speed of her thoughts tied directly to her feet. All they're missing is the sound and smell of a crackling fire, and it would be like the last few months never happened.

It's in the midst of a lull that Lexa stops her pacing, and picks a sheet of paper up from where it sits on top of the pile spread across the bed. She scans the contents of it again in silence for a beat, one hand still behind her back. Then she says, very quietly, "You did..." she looks over the top of the paper to the rest of the gathered notes, " _all_ of this?"

Clarke looks up from a file she'd been rifling through and blinks a few times to refocus her eyes from the page in front of her to Lexa. "Yeah, more or less. With my mother's help, in some cases. Indra's and Helena's in others." She nods at a small pile of loose paper beside her, scrawled with handwritten notes taken throughout the morning. "And now yours."

Lexa quirks a half-smile for just a second before it's gone again, melding into an expression that Clarke soon recognizes as subdued awe. "With assistance, certainly - you've essentially been waging a shadow campaign - but, all of this..." She gestures in particular to a clipping of a report on the Blue Cliff clan's routing of _Azgeda's_ smuggling operation. "Every success has come as a result of your planning, your strategy." A soft, single snort of laughter. "You may as well be fighting this war single handedly."

"It does sometimes feel that way," Clarke admits. It's not as if she's truly been accomplishing all of this _single handedly_ \- without the support of her mother and Helena and Indra's willingness to enact the plans Clarke creates, none of this would happen. But she can't help the twinge of pride in her chest at Lexa's praise. This may be a group effort, but no one else has the unique understanding that Clarke does of both Grounder politics and Arkadia's council - and no one else devotes as much time and effort to the cause. "But I'm glad you're here to help. Much as I'd like to, I can't actually do all of this on my own. Not without going insane, anyway."

"Mm. I do doubt that," Lexa says, and this time her smile stays. She takes a step closer to Clarke and puts one hand on Clarke's cheek, brushing her thumb once over Clarke's cheekbone before bending to kiss her forehead. "Thank you, Clarke. For keeping my people safe."

" _Our_ people," Clarke corrects, and before things can get too sappy she pulls Lexa down by the front of her shirt for a real kiss.

For her part, Lexa makes good on her commitment to face the mental and physical challenges she faces in recovery head on. They get up and train together again, Clarke on her own and occasionally with Octavia and Lexa with Lincoln. Though she's improving at an incredible rate, even faster than Clarke anticipated she might, the constant training (and, more often than not, failure) clearly weigh on her. 

One morning in particular, Clarke perches on one of the equipment crates after her own exercise routine and watches Lincoln and Lexa. The former is driving the latter back to the edge of their patch of training yard again and again. They'll set up, begin sparring, and Lincoln will slowly but surely force Lexa to give up ground until he lands a hit or her footwork falters. Clarke knows that Lexa pushed herself too hard the day before - she was practically limping after a run when she finally showed back up at the tent - and that's made even more evident the longer their sparring goes on. Lincoln has less and less trouble disarming or hitting her, and Lexa's patience grows increasingly thin. Until, finally, her own footwork proves her downfall.

In an effort to stop Lincoln's onslaught, Lexa shifts her weight to her back foot and presses her body weight forward into a thrust. A good idea, if Lincoln weren't already halfway through a particularly aggressive swing at her side. She catches his sword on her own, but just barely. Her front foot trips on its way back to catch her own momentum and, almost in slow motion, Clarke watches Lexa fall sideways. Her hip hits the ground and Clarke winces at the crunch she imagines she could hear if she were closer. With a roar of frustration, Lexa throws herself back up and chucks the wooden sword in her hand about two inches from Lincoln's shoulder. It lands with a hollow _thunk_ a dozen or so feet in front of Clarke.

Lexa's jaw flexes and nostrils flare as rage flows like fire on every deep, ragged breath, and for a beat she just glares at her discarded weapon as though it were the source of offense. But then her eyes flick up, suddenly aware that Clarke is watching her, and meet Clarke's. 

The last time this happened, Lexa stalked off to seethe in her anger and, Clarke is now certain, some measure of self-loathing. But this time Lexa catches herself, self-awareness surfacing from beneath the fury in her eyes. She takes in a slow, controlled breath. 

" _A moment please, Linkon,_ " she says in Trigedasleng, and he nods his understanding. As he steps away, coming to take a drink of water and mutter to one side with Octavia, Lexa turns her back on the rest of them and sinks to a sitting position. With her legs folded beneath her and her wrists on her knees, she sits with practiced stillness. Clarke only knows the careful, measured breaths Lexa takes from familiarity with the posture; not even her shoulders move as she takes them.

Just as Clarke is beginning to wonder if this would nevertheless be the end of training, Lexa unfolds herself and stands. Instantly aware of the movement, Octavia and Lincoln break off their conversation and turn to face Lexa as she approaches them.

"I apologize for my outburst," she says, standing before Lincoln with her fist over her heart and her head inclined. It's a formal apology, and Lincoln looks somewhat surprised as he slowly puts his fist over his heart in turn.

"Are you alright, Commander?" he asks in English, and a warning klaxon goes off in Clarke's head. But Lexa doesn't snap at him - doesn't so much as acknowledge the title.

"I am," she answers. With a quick glance at Clarke, she adds, "Shall we go again?"

Clarke flashes a reassuring smile at Lexa between bouts, which she doesn't acknowledge but seems to have some positive effect on her performance. Lexa gets the better of Lincoln twice before they finally call it quits and while she will definitely be nursing bruises later, she ends her training with a confidence in her eyes that Clarke hasn't seen in an age.

Somewhere between running around to meetings with council members, various errands courtesy of her mother, and her work in the med ward, Raven finds her and declares that she will be hosting a poker night. "Hosting" seems like a generous word, given that Clarke knows she plans to bring the cards and otherwise allow the cooks and Monty to contribute food and booze, but it does sound fun. Clarke hasn't played cards since she lived on the Ark, and letting off steam with her friends is always welcome.

When Clarke returns to the tent to change before dinner, she finds Lexa sprawled across her bed roll, reading a history textbook of all things. As always, Clarke extends the invitation to join her in the night's activities. What she doesn't expect is for Lexa to look up from her book, a decidedly thoughtful look on her face — and say yes.

"Really?" Clarke pauses with her shirt halfway up her body, surprise stilling her hands. "You really want to come?"

Lexa's eyes move from the gap of bare skin to Clarke's face, and wariness suddenly flashes in her eyes. "...should I not?"

"No, of course you should come!" Clarke quickly throws her shirt into an increasingly large pile of dirty clothes in the corner. She reaches around Lexa to grab a fresh one from the trunk and smirks at the way Lexa's eyes glue themselves to her chest. "I'm just so used to you saying no, I'm surprised that you want to come. But of course you should."

"I always want to come," Lexa says, and from her distracted tone you'd think she were hypnotized. But then Clarke sits back, Lexa blinks, and quickly amends: "I mean - I have always felt out of place. Intimidated, even. I never..." With very purposeful phrasing she finishes: "Didn't want to go."

The resurgence of Lexa's libido has been nice for a multitude of reasons.

"Well good," Clarke chuckles and only half-heartedly adjusts her new shirt onto her body before twisting her hands in Lexa's hoodie and pulling her close. "We can be a little late though," she purrs against Lexa's ear, "I'm sure."

Lexa's breath rushes out of parted lips, and her fingers twist in the belt loops of Clarke's jeans. "Thank the Flame," she says under her breath, and when she lays back Clarke goes with her.

When they emerge from the tent, Clarke has to take a second to twist her bra back in place and check her belt. Lexa ditched her hoodie entirely, and steps into the sun with a v-neck t-shirt halfway down her torso. Alfie wiggles excitedly as they cross his meadow, and they are further delayed by a few quick scratches behind his ears. And belly. And under his chin too, for good measure. By the time they arrive on the hill behind Alpha Station, Raven and Bellamy are already there.

It's the perfect spot. The sun is in the early stages of setting and casts a deep, orange hue across the grass and over the tips of trees that make up the encroaching forest. What Clarke assumes are birds chirp in both familiar and strange ways, lazily calling to each other from far-off branches. In one direction, the bulk of Alpha overshadows the rest of Arkadia but in the other - they're not high enough to attract attention, are probably barely level with the top of the fence in the distance, but it's high enough that the view reaches for miles across the top of the forest.

Clarke has been eager to show it off to Lexa, but as she waves to Bellamy and he stands to greet them, Clarke suddenly has the feeling that Lexa might be nervous. A feeling which is confirmed when she reaches over to hold her hand, and Lexa's fingers instantly twine around hers in a tighter-than-usual grip.

"Hey!" Clarke keeps a smile on her face and does her best to ignore the way Raven's eyebrows disappear into her hairline in surprise. "Guess who I finally convinced to join us?"

"'Convince' is a strong word," Lexa mutters, but they aren't close enough for the others to hear it.

"Oh wow," Bellamy says, and he has the good grace to add a smile to his look of surprise. To Lexa directly, he says, "I didn't know you were a card player."

"I don't know that I am," Lexa answers, shooting a quick glance at Clarke. By now they've reached the edge of the camp blankets that Raven and Bellamy have spread out in the grass, and their 'hostess' looks up at them with a hand shielding her eyes from the sun. 

"So what do we call you?" she asks, and Clarke is simultaneously annoyed and grateful for the way Raven spreads her particular brand of abrasiveness around. "Lex?"

"Commander," Bellamy says quickly.

"Lexa," Lexa says, and there's a slight grimace behind her forced smile. The way her hand loosens in Clarke's makes Clarke think she's preparing to bolt. "Is fine."

"You know, I don't hate 'Lex,'" Clarke muses in a decidedly mock serious tone. She squeezes Lexa's hand in a way that she hopes is reassuring and half leads, half drags her over to the blankets. "We'll teach you how to play. The hardest part is not giving away when you have a good hand. Just do the opposite of whatever Bellamy does and you'll be fine."

"Hey!" Bellamy's brows pull together in a semblance of a pout.

"Oh come on, Bell," Raven answers. She reaches into a bag sitting against her hip and pulls out a card box, and knocks the cards into her hands. Clarke notes that a number of hand-made replacement cards stand out against the ancient, factory-made originals as Raven begins to shuffle them. "You know your bluffs suck."

"You've memorized which ones are replacements!" he crows as he sits, and Raven just shrugs.

"I know, I'm a genius."

Clarke keeps hold of Lexa's hand as she sinks to the ground, pulling the other woman with her. Lexa sits beside her with her legs folded beneath her and her back carefully straight, tension in her arms and free hand tucked in her lap. She observes this exchange like a wild animal uncertain what to make of the creatures it's now confronted with.

She looks a bit like Alfie.

"Maybe Lexa should be on my team," Clarke declares and shifts closer to Lexa's side. "Team Clarke, the best team there is. Besides, I'm sure you'll get the hang of it after a few hands," she adds and kisses Lexa lightly on the cheek.

"Gross," Raven mutters.

"Wait - weren't you supposed to bring the food, Clarke?" Bellamy asks, apropos of nothing. 

"No, your sister was," Raven answers before Clarke can feign offense. "Clarke was supposed to bring the booze, because she can get away with stuff like that."

"Well, where's Octavia?"

“I...may have forgotten about the booze,” Clarke admits, and at least has the decency to look sheepish. “Got distracted. I can run over and get some, though.” And leave Lexa here, alone with her friends…

"Absolutely useless," Raven mutters, and heaves herself to her feet. "Fine. I'll go get Monty to give us more than he should. I should go find Octavia and Lincoln anyway. Make sure they're not off, like...making out, or something."

From the corner of her eye, Clarke can see Lexa's ears going red.

"Thanks, Ray," Clarke attempts to level a serious look at Raven. "I'm sorry I forgot. But hey, by the time you get back Bellamy and I will have gotten Lexa up to speed. Right, Bell?"

Raven snorts. "Good luck," she tells Lexa, and Lexa twitches a tight-lipped smile at her. Bellamy just rolls his eyes and reaches for the cards Raven left behind as she walks back down the hill.

"So how much do you know about poker?" He asks Lexa, and strains forward again to grab Raven's bag as well.

"I...know it is a betting game," Lexa answers haltingly. She eyes the bag warily as Bellamy drags it back towards himself.

Bellamy nods and fishes around inside the bag. "A good enough place as any to start," he says, and flashes a smile at Lexa and Clarke both as he pulls a hard case out of the bag.

The case holds one of the few chip sets the Ark has left, and Clarke notes that Raven has somehow managed to get the one that's most complete. Even then, like the card deck, it isn't _quite_ whole: some chips have been replaced by cardboard cutouts, folded up pieces of paper, and - in one case - even an old US quarter. Bellamy takes a stack of the actual chips out and sets them in front of Lexa before sorting through the deck to find a card of each value.

With something to focus on that isn't the weirdness of this situation, Lexa's shoulders begin to relax. As Clarke and Bellamy trade off explaining the various combinations of cards and their hierarchy, she leans forward with her elbows on her knees and brows pulled together. It's an expression Clarke has come to know well, like Lexa is trying to work out a puzzle - and sure enough, as the combinations become more complicated, she begins to ask her clarifying questions. Whatever part of her might have been focused on fleeing visibly melts away.

Clarke enjoys watching them, pleased despite herself at how easily they get along. Bellamy has an easy way of explaining things that betrays his acumen as a big brother - he's direct and concise, but patient. Even when Lexa needs him to explain something several times, he remains calm and helpful. By the time Raven returns, Octavia and Lincoln in tow, Lexa has a basic understanding of the rules and gameplay. 

The value of various card configurations still seems to elude her, however - she's struggling through the definition of a full house for the eighth time as Raven plops down beside Clarke, sloshing clear liquid over the side of a large jug onto Clarke's pants that immediately permeates her nostrils with an overwhelming smell of pure alcohol.

"Yes, I understand that, but why, if I have three of the women cards - _Flame,_ what is that _smell??"_

In the most spirited tone she's yet managed, Lexa breaks off mid-objection to look accusingly at the splotch that Clarke and Raven are now rapidly trying to get out of Clarke's pants. In the process she realizes the others' arrival, and Clarke feels more than sees her pull back into herself.

"Moonshine," Octavia answers, and drops into the spot next to Bellamy. Lincoln nods to Lexa and Clarke as he takes a seat beside her. 

Lexa's nose scrunches in a decidedly un-Commanderly expression. "Moonshine?"

"Alcohol," Clarke manages to clarify through a fit of giggles. The look on Lexa's face is really just too adorable. "It's what we--" she takes a deep breath, centers herself, then continues more clearly, "it's what we drank on the Ark. There was no room to make beer, no grapes to make wine - so we made this." Clarke takes the jug and holds it out for Lexa to examine the clear liquid still swirling discontentedly inside. "It tastes better than it smells. Sorta."

Lexa's eyes hold Clarke's for a long moment, but that wrinkle in her nose doesn't disappear.

"You look unconvinced," Raven hums.

"That is likely because I am," Lexa answers.

"Whiskey is probably the closest thing you have, but even Helena spat this out," Clarke shrugs casually, but she can tell by the way Lexa's eyes narrow that she can see the challenge in Clarke's own. "If you can at least keep it down, you'll have done better than most Grounders."

Lexa eyes her a moment longer. Then, in what Clarke recognizes as a habit when they're around other people, she switches to Trigedasleng and says, " _You will have to do better than that to bait me, Klark_." And she returns her attention to the cards.

She grows quiet again as movement continues around her, asking Bellamy fewer questions in the time it takes Raven and Clarke to hand out small metal cups of moonshine and Lincoln and Octavia sort the food they pull out of their bags. Bellamy's hand dives into a container of salted tree nuts the instant it's opened, periodically, distractedly popping a few into his mouth as he continues his explanation of play. That leaves Raven and Octavia to sort out the chips for everyone.

"So..." Lincoln says slowly, once everyone has a makeshift dinner in front of them. He and Octavia had been able to secure quite a spread, with hearty salads as a main course and a variety of snacks for long-term consumption. "Do we want to start playing?"

"Yeah," Raven answers, and rolls up onto one knee to make a grab for the card deck, one hand wrapped around her cup. Bellamy snatches the cards away before the other can land. "At this rate, we'll finish the booze before we even start the game."

"Okay, okay." Bellamy shuffles the deck one more time, looking pointedly at Raven. "We can start, but you're not dealing first." 

"Why not?"

"Because you cheat." 

Before Raven can so much as feign outrage, Octavia and Lincoln agree in unison: "You cheat."

At the way Lexa's brows have drawn together, Bellamy offers a reassuring smile. "It's easier to figure out when you see how it works," he promises.

The game proceeds in a way that Clarke should probably have been able to predict. Bellamy and Raven continue to gripe about which of them gets to be the dealer (in increasingly loud tones as the moonshine is passed around), Lincoln and Octavia take turns serving impossibly good poker faces and calling each other out for bluffing, and Lexa is...confused. That's the best word Clarke can think of to describe the look on Lexa's face as she picks up yet another hand dealt from Raven.

"Okay, now remember, we can't let anyone know what our cards are," Clarke swallows a gulp of moonshine and nods at the Jack and ten in Lexa's hands. "Not even if Raven tricks you by asking. Poker face," she waves at her own expression and makes a dramatic show of schooling her face into a neutral expression. "Like this."

Lexa twists her torso around to look at her, eyebrow raised. Many of the early hands had been dealt with Lexa sitting stiffly upright, Clarke straining over her shoulder to help her with the game. When the moonshine and a tired back made this untenable, Clarke chose to instead scoot up behind her, legs splayed to either side so that Lexa's hips could fit between her thighs. Even then, it was a few more hands before Lexa finally relaxed back against Clarke's chest, one elbow balanced on Clarke's lifted knee.

Now she blinks at Clarke for a moment before closing her eyes. She takes a breath, and when she opens them again, Clarke is confronted with the solemn, half-empty eyed look that she has long since identified as Lexa's I-refuse-to-feel-anything expression. "Like this?" she asks - and the expression lasts only a handful of seconds before a small smile cracks through.

Clarke laughs and doesn't even try to stop herself from pressing a light kiss to that smile. "Yes, just like that. The 'no mercy' face, perfect. Now aim it somewhere that way, preferably at Octavia so she stops winning."

"Still gross," Raven mumbles, a refrain she gives voice to when either of the couples present show even a modicum of affection.

"You're just scared, Clarke," Octavia says, tapping her two cards against her shin. She sits with one knee pulled up against her chest, the other leg folded beneath her and one arm draped around her bent leg. Her other hand rests on Lincoln's knee, where it sits stretched out beside her. He rests back on his hands, having folded after the first bet. "Your chip pile is getting awfully low over there."

"Psh," Clarke waves her hand dismissively, "the winds of luck - or however that goes - can change at any time. Besides, we can bet with more than just chips."

Lexa's eyebrow goes up, wariness suddenly in her eyes. "We can?"

"You gonna start betting clothing pieces, Clarke?" Raven asks, eyebrow perked and a grin on her lips.

Lexa frowns at Raven. "Clothing?"

"Oh no," Bellamy says, shaking his head. "I'm not doing that again. Not in front of my sister."

"Pussy," Octavia mutters, at the same time that Lexa frowns back at Clarke.

"Again?"

“You should have more confidence in your abilities, Bell. You won that last hand,” Clarke’s grin matches Raven’s even as she directs it at Lexa. “Strip poker, is what she’s talking about. Basically the same, you just bet clothes instead of chips. Loser takes their clothes off. Simple.”

Lexa's frown deepens as she considers this, but Octavia rescues her before she needs to respond.

"I'll save you having to make that decision," she says, and picks up her tin cup. Setting it down beside the chips from previous rounds of betting, she looks at Lexa and, completely ignoring her brother's pile of chips, says, "Since it's just you and me left, I'll bet you a shot. Whoever has the worse hand has to take one."

Clarke purses her lips and shrugs when Lexa turns to look at her, confusion evident in her bright green eyes. “Up to you, babe.” She leans forward and kisses the space under Lexa’s ear and whispers, “Kick her ass.”

She feels Lexa smirk.

"Your terms are acceptable," Lexa says as Clarke sits back. "I believe I show first?"

With a King, Jack, a nine, a three, and a two in the run, the Jack and ten Lexa lays down gives her a pair with a high card. Raven sits forward, a slow smile pulling across her lips; Bellamy is much less subtle in his reaction.

"Oooooooooh shit, O!" He laughs, clapping his hands together. "Guess you're drinking, c'mon, bottoms up."

"Hold on," Lincoln says, holding up a finger. He tips it towards Octavia who, on cue, puts down a pair of Kings.

"What!" Raven practically shouts.

“How do you always win?” Clarke exclaims, laughing even as Lexa groans with frustration in front of her. “Somehow even without cheating, unlike some people.”

"I had two of the J cards!" Lexa protests, even as everyone else dissolves into giggles. Everyone except for Octavia that is, who just shrugs.

"Know when to hold them, know when to fold them," she says, and takes her cup back along with the rest of the pot. She fills it with a shot of moonshine and holds it out to Lexa. "But fair is fair."

"Now I do not often argue semantics," Lexa says, holding up a hand, "But those were technically Clarke's cards."

"Nuh uh, no way," Raven cuts in, managing to claw her way out of her fit of mirth to say. "Sorry, Lexa. You made the bet, you take the shot."

“It was a good bet!” Clarke’s voice has an edge of indignation to it, as if Lexa has already blamed her for goading her on. “The odds of Octavia having double Kings was like, basically zero. I’d do it for you, if I could,” she adds, a little sheepish even as a smirk overtakes her face. “But you’re the Commander of the Twelve Clans. I’m sure if any Grounder can handle moonshine, it’s you. Besides Lincoln, but he hardly counts - took him weeks to even keep it down.”

"No need to out me like that, Clarke," Lincoln says with a lazy grin. "I'm not the one who keeps kicking your ass."

"Rude," Clarke mutters into her cup.

"Come on then, Commander," Raven taunts, leaning forward over her one bent leg. "What's it gonna to be? Gonna welsh on your bet?"

"Oh for fuck's sake," Bellamy sighs and rocks forward, hand outstretched. "I'll take it--"

"No." Before Bellamy's fingers can touch the offered cup, Lexa's voice freezes him in his place. She sits forward and takes the cup, casting a quick look back at Clarke. " _Non na throu daun gon ai."_ And she knocks the shot back.

There's a beat of silence as everyone watches, holding their breath in anticipation of the coughing fit that's sure to follow. But it never comes. Whether because she was warned or through sheer force of will, Lexa closes her eyes, swallows hard...and then just clears her throat. When she opens her eyes again a moment later, they bear a devilish glint.

"That wasn't so bad," she says, looking at Clarke. "Here you had me worried."

And Clarke's idiot friends explode once again.

If Clarke's eyebrows could raise above her forehead, they would. "Seriously, that's it?" A part of Clarke may have enjoyed the idea of Lexa coughing up moonshine, forced to admit she can't handle _Skaikru_ booze - but a much bigger part fills with pride and she laughs at the smug look on Lexa's face. "Holy shit, no wonder everyone is so scared of you! You know I really think I get it now."

Lexa just smirks at that, and under the current sound of her friends losing their shit, it's hard to hear Lexa quietly clear her throat.

Raven is the first to recover herself, rocking forward again after the force of her laughter rolled her backwards. She wipes tears from her eyes with the back of her wrist and starts to catch her breath as she says, "Holy hell, that was priceless. Wait 'til I tell Helena."

"Can I be there when you do?" Lexa asks with a crook of a smile, and Clarke's eyebrows find a way to go even higher as Raven bursts into laughter once again.

"You know," Bellamy chimes in, "I think she nearly wet herself when Abby did that same thing in front of her. How's she gonna react to this?'

"Probably not quite the same way," Clarke muses, remembering the frankly gross look of admiration and...no, Clarke refuses to think what else Helena was feeling toward her mother in that moment.

"Dear god no, please no," Raven says, practically choking on her laughter now. She waves her hand in front of her as she shakes her head, as though to ward the very thought away. "Abso- _lutely_ no."

"Okay, okay," Octavia says, and grabs the moonshine to refill her cup. She then takes the last unclaimed cup, sitting beside her own empty backpack, and fills that one too. She then gets onto her hands and knees to reach across the blanket and put the cup down in front of Lexa. As she sits back on her shins she says, "Color me impressed. And, since that doesn't happen often, I suggest a toast."

Bellamy raises an eyebrow at that, his grin hanging lopsidedly from his lips. "A toast? Seriously?"

"Yes, you ass," Octavia answers, and pushes the moonshine to him so he can refill his cup. "A toast. To Commander Badass over here."

"Please," Lexa begs, "do not call me that."

"Fine," Lincoln says, and it's his turn to raise his cup. "To _Leksa kom Trikru_. May she set the world on fire with her breath."

Both Bellamy and Raven snort into their cups, and Octavia rolls her eyes. "Shut up and drink, assholes."

They all do as they're told, Lexa taking a drink without argument this time. Clarke gets the sense that she's hiding behind her cup more than anything though, because even in the light of the camp lantern in the middle of the circle she can see pink creep up Lexa's cheekbones.

"Alright," Clarke takes Lexa's cup when she's done and sets it and her own down next to them, "at this rate we're all going to be falling over before anyone wins. Or before I can convince someone else that strip poker is a great idea."

"I mean, I'm down," Raven says with a shrug. To Clarke's point, some of her syllables are already running into each other as she puts her cup down and leans back on her hands. "I'll bet you have some cool new scars to show off, Griffin."

Clarke is suddenly very aware of the scars on her forearms, almost as if she can feel the curves of pockmarked skin press against the fabric of her shirt. They aren't the only scars she's acquired since they last played this game - there's still a divot on her knee from falling on ice before Lexa's warriors picked her up, and plenty of smaller ones from her time living alone in the wilderness besides. But none of those scars carry quite the same weight. The marks on her arms are a reminder every day that Roan is still out there: still doing his best to destroy her and her people.

Outwardly though she just shrugs in kind, an easy smile on her lips. "I might. Anyone else care to find out?"

"Not really," Octavia sighs, and Lincoln laughs while she grabs the deck of cards from where it's sitting idle in front of her brother's knee. "Can we get the hormones under control for, like, another hour maybe?"

"And they say _we're_ bad," Lincoln mutters.

No more shots are taken that night, though the moonshine is not entirely abandoned. Even Lexa takes to sipping from her cup, and grows more animated as she does. The third time her elbow accidentally knocks into Clarke's knee with the force of her reaction to a hand's outcome, Clarke has enough; she gets up and makes Lexa switch places with her. Settling in between Lexa's legs, she leans back against her chest, Lexa's knees drawn up on either side of her and Lexa's elbows propped up against them. It then becomes Clarke's job to gather and hold their cards, and with every rock forward to get a new hand she comes back a little lower on Lexa's chest.

"Wait, wait, wait," Lexa says at one point with surprising urgency, one hand going out to stop Clarke from folding. By now, Lexa's chin rests on the top of Clarke's head. "Why would you fold? We have--"

"Babe, no sharing what cards we have!" Clarke exclaims, a drunken blend of exasperation and amusement coloring her voice. "We've been over this!"

Lexa falls silent immediately, and Clarke can almost hear her brows furrowing over the others' laughing. "Um..." Lexa starts haltingly, the sound of someone attempting to find a work around. Has she ever heard Lexa say _um_ before?

Long fingers reach out to tap the corner of the cards in Clarke's hand, and Lexa says in Trigedasleng: " _That new card means we have three of a kind._ "

Immediately, Octavia and Lincoln chuck their cards into the middle. "Fold," they say in unison, the former rolling her eyes.

 _"I saw Raven slip a card up her sleeve, so she was going to win anyway,_ " Clarke says, following Lexa's choice in language more out of habit than anything. She playfully smacks Lexa's hand away. " _And they both speak Trigedasleng_."

"Oh," Lexa says. "Right."

"Wait, what?" Bellamy asks, glancing between the four of them.

"I agree: what?" Raven looks at Bellamy and then at Clarke. "What just happened? What'd she say?"

Clarke points somewhat haphazardly at Raven's arm and says, "You cheated, that's what. And Lexa apparently forgot that Lincoln is also a Grounder."

"Because you have to belong to a clan to speak Trigedasleng," Octavia mutters.

"You're the one who forced me to have - what did you call them?" Lexa says, switching to English once more. "Shots?"

Octavia grins wolfishly. "Yeah, you're welcome."

"Wait, wait." It's Raven who calls a halt to the exchange this time. When she has everyone's attention to looks at Clarke and, with a hand against her chest, says, "I cheated?"

"You know you cheated, I watched you do it," Clarke throws her cards back into the pile with a huff. "You're gonna have to come up with some new tricks. It's no fun unless I at least _think_ I can win."

"I'm not even the one who's winning all the time!" Raven objects, doing the same.

"So you cheat and you still lose?" Bellamy laughs, earning him a punch in the shoulder from Raven. "Wow, you are a terrible cheat--ow!"

Clarke can't help but laugh at the petulant look on Bellamy's face and in seconds, she's forgotten all about being annoyed at Raven. Which, she'll think later, is probably how Raven always wins - they all get drunk enough that they forget just how adept she is at cheating.

They continue playing even after the sun has set. Lincoln produces a lantern and several candles, which serve as enough of a light source for a few more hands. By the time they're clearing everything up, Lexa has even won a few hands. With Clarke's help, of course, but she seems pleased nonetheless - and the way she lists a little when she stands and leans more into Clarke as they walk back to the tent indicates that moonshine has more of an effect on the former Commander than she'd like to let on.

Alcohol has always energized Clarke, but it's quickly obvious that it does not have the same effect on Lexa. She immediately burrows under the blankets and curls into Clarke's side, looking for all the world like a large, sleepy-but-pleased cat. Pip, an actual cat, nestles herself against Clarke's feet. Between the two of them Clarke would be hard-pressed to move at all - if she had any desire to. Energy or no, being able to hold Lexa close and feel her chest rise and fall against her side is too comforting to give up. It takes a little while, but eventually the sounds of Pip's tiny snores and Lexa's steady breaths against her neck lull Clarke into a dreamless sleep.

It is perhaps somewhat merited, then, that it's Pip who wakes her in the morning. Shortly after sunrise, Pip begins to meow and yowl, walking over her and Lexa's shins until both women stir from their sleep. Lexa groans, her brow furrowed and eyes closed tight against the light, and Clarke knows she's feeling the same headache she is - and Pip's yelling isn't helping. But then Lexa rolls onto her side, sharing some choice words in Trigedasleng, and Pip takes her opportunity: she steals into the space Lexa left behind, settling herself in between their chests. At that point Lexa opens her eyes for the first time, blinking down at the cat before looking up at Clarke.

"This is a good reason to skip training, right?" she asks, and Clarke never thought she'd hear those words out of Lexa's mouth.

Clarke chuckles and then winces at the way it echos painfully in her head. "If you're offering to sleep in, I am not going to argue." Pip snuffles into their hair, a mix of brown and blond that falls between their heads. So close to her ear, Pip's purrs sound more like an engine than the happy hums of a cat. "Pip would also like to sleep in, apparently.

"We cannot disobey our de facto ruler," Lexa mutters, and settles her weight back down on her shoulder. With an arm draped over both Pip and Clarke, she closes her eyes and in a matter of seconds is asleep again.

That night of drunken shenanigans, that resulted in a hangover bad enough to even have her remain in bed, breaks some remaining wall for Lexa. In the days that follow, she makes an effort to be more social. Already more comfortable with Lincoln than when their training began, she finds excuses to spend time with him even outside of those early morning hours. And where Lincoln goes, Octavia is quick to follow. There remains a wariness there, two alpha females still uncertain of the other's motives, but when Clarke comes to lunch to find the three of them sharing a table and talking in quiet Trigedasleng, she knows it can't be that bad. 

Raven and Bellamy prove to be slightly more of an obstacle. Despite having Helena in her life, Lexa has little frame of reference for Raven's particular brand of abrasiveness. It's clear that for a while, she doesn't know what to make of Raven's dry sarcasm and gently mocking tendencies, and bristles at every use of the nickname 'Lex.' Bellamy is a simple lack of intersection; Lexa has reason to run into all the others during the day, whether because of training or because of Helena's communicator, but Bellamy's position with the security team keeps him running in entirely separate circles. But when Lexa joins them for the occasional group dinner, she interacts with him with a certain warmth that surprises Clarke. Whenever debates break out, Lexa and Bellamy find themselves on the same side more often than not - if not for precisely the same reasons.

It brings a warmth to Clarke's chest, to see Lexa interacting so freely with her friends. It feels almost as if they're normal people, at least for a while. For the moments when they're all eating together, laughing and discussing something completely inane that has nothing to do with politics or war. When Raven pokes fun at Lexa and for the first time ever, Lexa smiles back, Clarke thinks her heart might literally explode out of her chest.

But it can't all be perfect. Lexa's comfort with her friends is a relief, but also a constant reminder of all Clarke stands to lose. Finally, Lexa is a part of her life in every way. Her friends not only accept her (a hurdle Clarke never truly allowed herself to think they could overcome), but the more they interact with Lexa, the more they seem to enjoy her company outside of Clarke's presence. There are several times when Clarke finds Lexa and Octavia setting up some new training contraption in the yard - a few occasions when Bellamy waves as Lexa passes by. Once, Clarke even sees Raven bring Lexa what can only be a pilfered donut from the kitchens and laugh as Lexa's expression turns from skeptical to elated as she takes a bite.

It's everything Clarke has ever wanted. And yet, in the back of her mind, the reality of their situation chases away any lasting happiness.


	11. Poison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Violence (stabbing, death)
> 
> ...what? Were you expecting more fluff?

Shortly thereafter comes another first: for the first time since her injury, Lexa finally beats Lincoln in a duel. She's still far from full fighting shape, but it's an unmistakable milestone in her recovery, and it leaves Lexa in soaring moods for the rest of the day. Clarke's reaction is a little more bittersweet, and Lexa sees through her attempt at a smile with ease.

Which is perhaps the reason Lexa suggests that they spend lunch in Alfie's meadow. The dog has become much more comfortable with Arkadia, and abides a handful of visitors now and again. But Lexa has more than a brief visit in mind, it would seem, as she withdraws a handful of salted meat and hands it to Clarke. With little torn off bits, she leads Clarke through a few of Alfie's learned commands, all in Trigedasleng: sit, stay, roll over. He's still learning the command _dance,_ which Lexa doesn't prepare her for - so it comes as quite a surprise when he stands up on his back paws and attempts to lay his front ones on Clarke's shoulders. Her reaction sends Lexa into a fit of giggles, and Alfred into a spin of confusion when she recoils instead of catches his paws.

“What possible practical purpose does that command have?” Clarke demands, even as Lexa’s laugh brings a smile creeping across her face. “Is he supposed to seduce game with an alluring dance?”

"They are all an exercise in obedience and control," Lexa answers, and with a piece of jerky between her thumb and forefinger she moves her hand in a circle above Alfie's head. The dog spins in a circle, eyes on the treat the entire time, then sits down. Lexa tosses the meat up and he snaps it out of the air. "There are other, more useful commands I am working up to. But they are harder to demonstrate."

After that, Lexa makes a point of bringing Alfie around Clarke more often, and vice versa. She never explains herself, not really, but Clarke suspects that it's her way of reciprocating Clarke's inclusion with her friends; in sharing Alfred with her, Lexa is giving her the only friend she has in Arkadia. And sure enough, the pup becomes much more comfortable around Clarke - to the point where he will happily lay down beside her, as long as Lexa is nearby.

That success further inspires Lexa to begin bringing him around Arkadia. It takes some time to ensure he's acclimated; his home in the woods is one thing, but the larger city, with its new sounds, people, and smells, leaves him a little nervous. But Lexa puts him on a lead and keeps him close to her, coaxing him along with treats and reassuring words, and he acclimates little by little.

The residents of Arkadia, for their part, seem increasingly intrigued. While most are wary at first, Clarke is surprised at how quickly people - from soldiers, to nurses, to Kane - adapt to his presence. The guards always light up whenever Lexa brings him by; even Pike’s face twitches in the ghost of a smile when Alfie demonstrates a new trick within eyesight. Perhaps even more surprising is that Jasper not only finds a rubber ball, but gifts it to Alfie. He barely looks at Lexa or Clarke as he does so, but there can be no doubt that the residents of Arkadia are pleased at the idea of a dog - and the possibility of more.

For Clarke’s part, she still prefers Pip’s company. She’s quiet and easily pleased, and doesn’t demand pats and affection every two minutes while Clarke is reading. But even so, she comes to appreciate Alfie’s company. After a week or so of Lexa taking him around Arkadia, he even trots over to Clarke of his own accord - no coaxing or commands from Lexa necessary.

He is pretty cute, Clarke has to admit. And who on the Ark didn’t wish for a dog?

It becomes habit for Alfie to follow at Lexa’s heel as she makes her way around Arkadia throughout the day. He yips happily when he spots Clarke and eagerly accepts pets from those he’s familiar with (strangely enough, Alfie seems to prefer Bellamy to all of Lexa’s friends - and even more amusing, Bellamy seems most wary of the dog). But he’s never far from Lexa, ever dutiful when she calls for him or tells him to sit or wait.

Late one afternoon, Clarke is caught mid-daydream by a messenger from the front gate. She's in the midst of prepping exam materials for the hospital wing's morning shift, her thoughts already with Lexa and Alfie and the dinner she planned to have with them that night, when the guard is escorted through by a nurse. A caravan from the Mountain has arrived late, and the security forces stationed at the gate need her okay to let them in. Now almost single-handedly in charge of the supplies coming into and out of the city, Clarke is hardly surprised to find that her presence is needed; she's mostly just annoyed that it will no doubt mean arriving late to the date she was so looking forward to.

When she arrives at the gate, a squad of _Skaikru's_ security forces surround a Grounder caravan, hands on the rifles that they hold across their chest. They look wary and on guard, and though none of them point their weapons at the Grounders, everyone seems on edge. The commanding officer reiterates the issue when Clarke is close enough, and she surveys the caravan as he does. Everything looks to be as expected: four Grounders, a wagon, boxes marked with the proper symbols. But there's only one face that she recognizes, which is less than expected. Changes to the caravan guards are rarely made, and she hadn't heard of any injuries or illnesses from Indra's people at the Mountain.

" _What happened, Jaks?"_ she asks the Grounder she recognizes. The _Skaikru_ officer hands her a clipboard, and she flips through the caravan logs he has recorded there. " _You were supposed to be here three hours ago."_

" _Broke a wheel,_ " the Grounder answers, and he motions behind him at one of the wagon wheels. Sure enough, the wheel shows the signs of hasty repair. " _Took a while to do, with a load this big_." 

" _You couldn't send a runner ahead?"_

" _Skeleton crew_." Jax shoots a look at the other three Grounders, none of whom have paid her any attention. They all carefully watch the Sky People that surround them, their hands close to the weapons on their hips and backs. " _Some disagreements in the ranks. Indra had to make last minute changes, sent Vill and Kent to the training camps. Didn't want to leave the new kids alone."_

" _At least you got here before sunset,_ " Clarke mutters, looking up at the position of the sun in the sky. Abby had forbidden any caravan from traveling at night after a covert _Azgedan_ crew attacked one of them a few weeks back. None of them wore anything to identify them as Ice Nation, of course, but no one else would dare launch such an attack in _Trikru_ territory. 

And yet, there's little question that tensions in the region have been on the rise. More and more altercations have been taking place at the Mountain, where _Trikru_ and _Skaikru_ guards regularly interact. The more belligerent the _Skaikru_ personnel get, the more likely _Trikru_ warriors are to react. It isn't unheard of for Indra to switch some of her people out to cool down, and vice versa - though in Ville's and Kent's cases, it must have been sudden for Indra to not have sent word ahead. And with new people on the caravan, Clarke can't just wave them through and trust them to know how to run through protocol at the warehouse. Which means yet further delays from dinner.

"Alright," she says with a sigh, and pulls a pen from her pocket. She signs off on the clipboard and hands it back to _Skaikru_ officer before continuing in Trigedasleng. " _Come with me. If we move quickly, we can still get to the warehouse before Lincoln closes up for the night_."

Clarke waves them over to the right toward the warehouse and reassures the guards, “I was on my way there anyway, I can take it from here. We’ll get it unloaded and prepped for tomorrow.”

They seem hesitant to leave, but eventually the one in charge shrugs and orders the rest back to their posts. None of the guards have taken to Clarke very well - particularly the power she’s allowed to wield over them. It’s no surprise they’d rather not help, and it’s just as well. Between the four Grounders and Lincoln, they should be done unloading the wagon quickly.

As they make their way over to the warehouse, Clarke glances between the three Grounders she doesn’t recognize. She’s always wary of new faces, particularly when she knows there’s a chance Lexa will cross their path. It shouldn’t be too hard to wave Lexa away and meet up with her for a late dinner when they’re done, but even so...something about the lateness of the hour combined with people she doesn’t recognize makes Clarke feel slightly on edge.

“ _You’re new to the supply runs?”_ Clarke asks the nearest Grounder as they approach the giant warehouse doors, which are indeed still open. 

" _Sha,"_ she answers. Clarke waits a beat to see if more will follow, but the Grounder doesn't speak again. A woman of few words, it seems.

The wagon is easy enough to guide into the cavernous loading space at the front of the warehouse. Lincoln looks up as they file in and hops up off a pile of crates where he’d been sitting and chatting with...Lexa, of all people, who leans against the shelves opposite with Alfred at her heels. Clarke is surprised to see her, and only a little displeased: Lexa smiles immediately upon seeing her, an expression that becomes tinged with sheepishness when Lexa realizes this means she must be late for their date. A quick glance at the people following Clarke, however, and all traces of a smile are gone. She stands, gestures for Alfie to follow, and with her head ducked to hide as much of her face as she can attempts to make a swift exit.

She attempts rather than does, however, because Alfie refuses to budge. Usually so quick to obey Lexa's orders, the dog is now rooted to the spot, his tail still as he stares down the approaching Grounders.

Jax frowns at the dog and makes an effort to give Alfie a wide berth. Clarke isn't sure what experience Jax has with dogs - certainly other Grounder communities use dogs for more than just hunting and tricks, preferring to utilize them for violence - but what makes her nervous is the way the other Grounders' eyes fix on Alfie and then move to scrutinize his handler.

" _Let's get this over with,_ " Clarke says and moves her body directly between the Grounders' line of sight and Lexa. " _When we're done I'll show you to our tavern_ " - there's no word in Trigedasleng for 'cafeteria' - " _for some dinner and to your tents for the night._ "

At this point, Lincoln is already at the back of the caravan. He's assisted in the unloading of supplies dozens of times and is in the middle of pulling down the wooden board on the back for easier access to the supplies when he finally notices the newcomers.

His eyes move between the new faces and the back of the wagon, an expression of growing apprehension on his face. "Clarke?" he says in English, eyes finally settling on her. "What's going on? Where's Ville and Kent?"

Two of the Grounders accompanying Jax turn to look at Lincoln, a new stiffness in their shoulders. Most of the Grounders assigned to daily supply runs understand basic English at best, but it's clear they understood his question. When Clarke turns her eyes on Jax, he is watching her with redoubled nervousness.

"They were reassigned to the training camps, apparently." Clarke looks between the three new faces as she speaks and sure enough, each of them show signs of understanding. She takes a step back toward Lexa and waves her hand toward the door. Lincoln's concern has Clarke's apprehension turning far too quickly to fear. If even one of them recognizes her... "I'll meet up with you later," she says over her shoulder, mentally begging Lexa to _please_ just fucking leave.

Which is, of course, not what Lexa has a mind to do. Even if Alfie were interested in leaving, Lexa's feet are now squared with the Grounder caravan, and Clarke feels no movement at her back. And Alfie _isn't_ interested in leaving: he's even more rooted than Lexa is, and his lips are pulled back over his teeth as a low growl starts in the back of his throat. He's often cautious around other people, but rarely is he outright hostile.

Each one of the three new faces look at the dog, and then at each other. Everyone - the Grounders, Alfie, Lincoln, Lexa - stands very still, not even a whisper of a breath escaping between them. Then the woman Clarke attempted to speak to nods her chin just a little, and the stillness shatters.

The two that linger by the back of the wagon lunge over the side, but only one succeeds in grabbing whatever they're reaching for. The other finds Lincoln's fist in their face, knocking them backwards several steps before his other hand can catch hold of their jacket and yank them back for another. The woman in front draws her sword and moves in the same instant, but it isn't Lexa she's leaping for. When her sword flashes out, it's aimed at Clarke's throat - but Lexa is faster. She steps to one side of Clarke and physically knocks her to the ground before Clarke can react, the sword that has become her ever-present companion now unsheathed in her hand. She draws it and blocks the woman's attack in the same motion, and snarls at Alfred in Trigedasleng: " _Attack!"_

With no one holding his lead, Alfie is already one step ahead of her. He jumps at Jax just as he draws his weapon and Lexa, with the Grounder woman's sword on hers, yells at Clarke: "Run!"

Clarke is typically very swift to act. Her body works quickly, helps her make the right decision before her thoughts can form it coherently. But in this moment, it takes several long, agonizing seconds for her to understand what just happened - which is enough time for the Grounder Lincoln wasn't able to grab to come around the back of the wagon, a wickedly curved sword brandished in his hands. Clarke's heart flutters in her chest, fear for Lexa searing through her veins. How did their enemies find out that Lexa is here? They were so careful, there's no way...

And as these thoughts form in her head, a new thought crashes down like a boulder through twigs. The Grounder now grappled in Lincoln's arms is fighting back, but keeps his eyes on Clarke as much as his struggles to get free will allow. Jax yelps in pain as Alfie snaps at his calf and leads the dog away from the fray, catching Clarke's eye as he goes. The woman to Clarke's left, now viciously attacking Lexa with blows that would have Clarke sprawled on her ass in no time, attempts to sidestep around Lexa's body with every swing of her sword.

The Grounders aren't trying to get to Lexa. They're trying to get to _Clarke._

She scrambles to her feet and immediately grabs for the knife at the back of her belt. It looks pathetic compared to the sword the Grounder in front of her wields, an observation he clearly shares as he grins evilly at the four inches of steel in her hand.

There is no reality in which Clarke is a match for a real warrior. An _Azgedan_ warrior, she's now sure. Her skills have improved immeasurably over the past year, but it could never make up for a lifetime of training. She scans the room quickly, hoping to find anything she can use to her advantage.

There are crates neatly stacked against the wall, evidence of Lincoln's meticulous efforts to organize, but the ruckus has sent several of them skittering across the ground. The usually neat metal shelves arranged in a corner of the warehouse shift and one topples over as the Grounder in Lincoln's arms gets the better of him and throws them both backward into it. The whole area is a minefield and though Clarke may not be stronger than any of these warriors, she may be faster.

A memory from what feels like ages ago surfaces suddenly. It's murky with adrenaline, but the idea is there. Clarke swerves to her right, instinctively drawing the Grounder away from Lexa, and sprints back toward Lincoln, the other Grounder, and the mess of crates and shelves beside them.

Clarke moves through the scattered crates as quickly and gracefully as she can, the warrior on her tail relentless in his pursuit. But as he reaches the boxes she hears the rhythm of his footfalls stutter, and she pauses just long enough to turn, see him begin to trip, and kick another box at his feet. It reaches him before he can regain his balance, and as it crashes into his shin he has nowhere to put his feet. He falls over it, his shoulder crunching into the ground and the sword in his hand skittering away across the floor.

All of this happens at the same time the Grounder Lincoln had been wrestling breaks fully free. He turns, punches Lincoln in the face even as he has him against the ropes, and then makes a lunge at the sword his companion had dropped. Despite the fact that he has a sword of his own strapped to his back, one that looks much longer and heavier and _deadlier_ than the one on the ground, he takes the time to reach for that one and takes up the chase. Clarke turns tail to run again just as Lincoln, with a gash leaking blood down his shaved head, catches the warrior attempting to stand up and drags him to the ground again.

"Go!" he yells at Clarke, but it's unnecessary: she's already going.

Except she's no better off than she was, with another Grounder coming at her with a sword. A sword in his hands and one on his back. It seems like overkill to Clarke, you'd think an assassination attempt would involve less enormous and obvious weapons.

 _Assassination attempt_.

Clarke will have to unpack the fact that she's apparently important enough to warrant assassinating later. The warrior on her tail is just a few feet behind and there's nowhere else to run. Nowhere else except out the door, and she's not about to lead this asshole all over Arkadia. They clearly don't care who they need to kill on their way to killing her. So instead she gets back to the front of the wagon and in the same motion ducks and turns on her heel, hoping the suddenness of her attack will give her an advantage.

Whether out of instinct or as some nascent result of her combat training, Clarke has timed her strike well. Her assailant had been gaining on her, and as she spins down at the foot of the wagon's front, she can launch the whole of her weight immediately upwards again. Directing all of it behind her knife, held between both her hands, she catches the warrior by enough surprise to drive it into the soft flesh of his side. He cries out in pain and stumbles immediately, the force of Clarke's attack knocking him to the side. As he falls to one knee, Clarke looks up to see Lexa parry a blow from the warrior she's engaged with, push the sword aside, and with a roar, draw her own sword across the woman's throat with one, long, sweeping strike.

Their eyes meet, and for a second Lexa and Clarke can only look at each other. Blood spatters across Lexa's face and chest, red staining the forest green v-neck t-shirt she wears. The red joins the black already there, seeping from a slice in the shirt across Lexa's breastbone as her chest rises and falls with rapid breaths. Clarke becomes immediately aware then of the blood currently dripping from her hands, and that her knife is no longer in them - a realization she has just as she hears Alfie yelp.

The dog cries as Jax lands a kick on his torso, and Clarke has barely stood before Jax's arms close around her. He pins her struggling to his chest as the other warrior shoves himself back to his feet, and lunges sloppily at Clarke with his sword. She's able to kick off the ground, shoving Jax backwards with her body weight such that what could have been a mortal blow merely scrapes her bicep instead. She cries as she feels her flesh part around its edge, but a flash of Lexa's steel has both the offending weapon and the hand wielding it clattering to the ground. Lexa then drives it through the warrior's chest, and as he falls Clarke is able to break herself free of Jax's grip.

She pushes him away, instinct telling her to put as much distance between herself and Jax as possible. But strangely, even as he stumbles back toward the open door of the warehouse, his eyes are locked on Lexa. Lexa, who is in the process of yanking her sword out of a Grounder's chest, and whose black blood seeps around the edges of the cut on her shirt.

Jax stares, and in that moment Clarke knows that he knows. That he's pieced the obvious clues together. Her face, her sword, her blood... he turns his gaze toward Clarke for a moment, hesitation clear in his eyes. And then he bolts. He's easily fifteen feet from her within a second, twice as much in two, and Clarke has no weapon or means to stop him.

"Lincoln!" she yells, and pivots on her foot in time to see the man in question snap the other Grounder's neck with his bare hands. He looks up at the sound of her voice and immediately his eyes find the retreating form of Jax. "Kill him!"

It's been a while since she's seen Lincoln in full fight mode, utilizing every deadly aspect of his warrior training. But it is on full, terrible display as he stoops to rip a dagger from the back of the dead man's belt and, with a flex of sinew and deft balance, he throws it at Jax. It flashes, spinning end over end, and sinks hilt-deep into its target: its tip parts Jax's road leathers like butter and lodges itself between two of his ribs and his spine. He hits the ground face first in an instant.

No sooner are their enemies dispatched than Lexa appears at Clarke's side. With a hand still spattered with blood, she reaches up and touches Clarke's face, eyes frantically searching her for injuries. "Clarke," she says quickly, sounding on the edge of panic. "Are you alright? Did any of them harm you?"

But Clarke doesn't have much of a mind for Lexa's questions. She isn't dying. But she hears a choking, sputtering gasp, and she knows that Jax is - but for a precious few seconds, he is still breathing.

Clarke pushes Lexa aside as gently as possible and runs over to Jax's fallen form. He's losing blood - a lot of blood. But for the moment his eyes are still open, crazed and in pain, and lock themselves onto Clarke as she kneels next to him.

" _What were you and your friends doing here?"_ she demands, and grabs Jax's collar to bring his face closer to hers. He yelps in pain, but Clarke barely registers the sound. " _Tell me, now_."

" _I'm sorry,_ " he says, and tears spill from his eyes. His voice is a wheeze, and as he tries to force out more words he coughs; blood comes up with it, dribbles from his lips. The knife must have punctured his lung. " _They threatened me...wanted...take them to you...please, Wanheda, don't let me die_..."

Clarke knows Jax. Not well, not like a friend. He's helped her carry heavy supply crates. He shook her hand when they first met, seemingly unafraid to be working with _Wanheda_. She knows him, and despite very nearly being the cause of her own death, Clarke feels sorry for him.

 _"I can't stop it_ ," Clarke whispers honestly, " _but I can end your suffering_." She looks up to where she knows Lexa now stands protectively over her, fury alight in her green eyes. "Be quick."

Lexa hefts her sword, her knuckles turning white around its hilt. She moves to stand over Jax with a snarl on her lips. " _Death first to liars and thieves,"_ she growls in Trigedasleng - and then switches her grip, her sword pointed down with her off hand on its pommel, and drives it into his heart. Jax lets out a sound of surprise, his eyes on Lexa...and all three of them, Clarke, Lexa, and Lincoln, watch as the light leaves his eyes. The last of the air in his lungs escapes him, and he sags backwards onto the knife still jammed in his back, dead weight.

As Clarke sighs and rises to her feet, she's suddenly aware of her injuries. Specifically the gash on her left arm. A quick glance and she's able to assess that she'll need stitches. It shouldn't impede her ability to use the arm, but it's deep enough that it will take some time to heal.

Lexa, on the other hand...Clarke steps into her space immediately, fingers the fabric around the cut across her chest. It doesn't look deep, the Grounder she'd been fighting must've just barely managed to hit her. Still, seeing Lexa's blood on her own skin brings back memories that Clarke would prefer to wipe permanently from her mind. And then there's Lincoln, who trots up to them looking as though he went a round with Bellamy that got a little more heated than friendly. Maybe more than heated - one of his eyes is already swelling as he stops beside them.

Between the three of them, Clarke is decidedly the least injured. Which strikes her suddenly as odd, given that she was clearly the target.

"We need to find my mother, she needs to know that the Mountain has been compromised. I'll go, you two should get those wound..." Clarke's voice falters as her left bicep tenses and vibrates beneath her skin. She was so focused on Jax and then Lexa, or maybe there had been too much adrenaline in her blood until this moment. But all of a sudden the muscle and sinew beneath her skin begins to tingle with warmth...and her heart pounds a little harder in her chest.

At first it feels familiar, like an energy spike before a fight. And then it becomes familiar in a new way. Like a panic attack that not only won't stop, but won't stop getting _faster_.

Clarke clutches at her chest and tries to regulate her breathing, but it doesn't stop. And the _heat_. At first it was just warm, but now the inside of her chest feels like it's on fire. She gasps in pain and falls to her knees, suddenly unable to focus on anything but keeping air moving in and out of her lungs.

"Clarke?" 

She hears her name vaguely, as though from a distance. She sways, the floor seeming to move in waves beneath her knees even as she fights to remain upright, and then Lexa is there: kneeling in front of her, hands on her shoulders, keeping her steady. Lexa's eyes flash across her face with mounting panic. " _Clarke?? Clarke what's wrong??"_

"Commander..." Lincoln's voice comes from somewhere over Lexa's shoulder, and Clarke manages to lift her eyes far enough to find him. Her heart pounds in her ears, behind her eyes, in her mouth. Her chest tightens as she sees Lincoln lift the sword used to cut her, and Lexa swears.

" _Poison??"_ she hisses, and he nods.

Heat is everywhere. Just everywhere. Clarke's insides feel like they're turning to blackened ash, and if it really is poison then for all she knows they are. Dimly, she's aware of what's happening, or at least what she's feeling. She knows that her heart rate isn't slowing, which means whatever poison was on the sword is trying to burn out her organs. It feels like it's trying to do that literally, but Clarke knows that the faster her heart accelerates, the more her vital organs are put on overdrive, the sooner they'll give out. And as soon as that happens...

She tries to force her breaths into a more regular pattern, but it's no use. Air is barely making it into her lungs as it is, and the breaths she does take are painfully short and staccato.

"Lexa," she manages to wheeze. Lexa's eyes are wide with terror but they lock immediately onto her own. "Take me...to..."

Maybe it was always moving toward her heart, or maybe this is just another phase of the poison. Either way, suddenly Clarke's heart not only, impossibly, increases in speed but also feels like its exploding. There's no other way to describe it. It feels like her chest is ripping itself apart, the valves and tissue keeping everything together disintegrating as everything else inside her burns to cinders.

Pain itself, combined with her now riotously unstable heart, could easily put her into cardiac arrest. Clarke knows that. But she can't even process the information, all she can do now is _feel_. She screams in pain and collapses into Lexa's arms, one arm clutched over chest and the other gripped like a vice around Lexa's bicep - like it's the only thing keeping her from being swallowed by flames.

" _Fok,_ Clarke--" She's vaguely aware of Lexa trying to heave her to her feet, and she wants to help but she can't even see straight, can't tell if her feet are listening to her directions to move, to stand. She feels Lexa's blood on her cheek, and hears her gasp in pain before her muscles give way. In Trigedasleng she says, " _We have to get her to the healers!"_

" _Let me,_ " Lincoln says, and Clarke's head swims dangerously as she's scooped into the air. Strong arms are beneath her knees and against the middle of her back, and she knows they're not Lexa's, Lincoln must have picked her up - but she can't hold her head up. It flops backwards and dangles from her neck as her vision goes black around the edges, even as she struggles to push the darkness back.

" _Run,_ " she hears Lexa say, and Lincoln does. It's around the second or third step that Clarke passes out.  
  
\--

The next time Clarke opens her eyes, it’s to familiar surroundings. Familiar but...backwards.

She squints against white, unnaturally bright lights. She’s lying down, obviously, and even more obviously she’s in the med ward. When she tries to move she can feel a bandage wrapped around her left arm where she was cut with the sword, but otherwise feels fine. That is, until she tries to sit up, and nausea and pain in equal measure surge into her head.

Clarke groans and blinks faster, forcing her eyes to adjust to the light. The sound apparently summons Abby, who materializes seconds later to hover over Clarke. Her vision is still fuzzy, but Clarke recognizes the look of fury on her mother’s face - it always appears after Clarke has given her reason to feel scared.

" _Clarke!"_ Abby gasps, the sole drop of relief to make it out past the fury. "Thank heavens you're awake. What the _hell_ were you thinking?"

“I was thinking 'we need to get the supplies into the warehouse,'” Clarke grumbles. Her mouth feels dry, but otherwise the sass comes out just fine. “If I’d known they would try to kill me, I would’ve let Pike deal with it. I’m sure he’d love that.”

"And he could have," Abby answers, serving Clarke a small dose of sass right back. People wonder where she gets it from. "If you had just _gone for help_."

"There was not time," says a voice from the far side of the room. Clarke's heart leaps, and she cranes her neck up to see Lexa sitting in a chair across from the foot of her bed. She looks tired but intact, and speaks with the voice of someone who has explained this several times already. "The fight itself lasted less than a minute."

"Yes, thanks to you and to Lincoln," Abby snaps, rounding on Lexa. "Who also nearly died. Do you realize what that would have meant for our plans?"

“I had two trained warriors with me,” Clarke insists, even as she feels her face grow pale at the prospect of Lexa nearly dying. Again. “Besides, we couldn’t have known. They had Jax with them.” Even now, thinking of the dead Grounder makes her sad. Maybe he deserved to die, but he was an ally once. And their list of allies seems to get shorter by the day.

“What was,” she gestures at her left arm with her right, “whatever did this? It felt like...” Clarke trails off to meet Lexa’s eyes, and can’t quite school her expression into a neutral one. Even the memory of that pain makes her chest feel tight.

It's enough to make Lexa stand, whatever caution was keeping her there immediately overridden. "It was a kind of poison," she says, her hands folded behind her back as she comes to the foot of the bed. 

"We call it _Trikovaswiss_ \- Shadow Knife." Lexa's lips twist, as though even in this moment she can't ignore how overdramatic the name sounds in English. "It's made from a flower that only blooms in cold regions, and is named for the searing pain it inflicts on its victims. It's an _Azgedan_ weapon."

"You're lucky Lexa recognized it as quickly as she did," Abby tells Clarke, her anger tempered somewhat, "and that Taylor has trained with _Trikru_ healers at the Mountain."

 _Taylor_. Clarke recognizes the name as one of the nurses who works with her mother in the hospital; she'll have to make a point to thank her.

“I am lucky,” Clarke agrees. Knowing the discomfort it will cause, she grits her teeth and forces herself to sit upright anyway. Lying still has never been her strong suit. “And we’re lucky this was about me. If _Azgeda_ sent assassins after Lexa, we’d be royally fucked.” She glances up at a decidedly unamused Abby. “Pardon my language.”

"I would rather there be _no_ assassins sent after _anyone,_ " Abby answers flatly, and looks between the two of them. "Much less allow them to walk clear through our gates. 

"But that is something to be discussed later," she finishes, and Clarke couldn't be more relieved. She does not have it in her to argue the finer points of how she was or was not responsible for her own near assassination. "You'll stay here tonight for observation - no, this isn't a discussion, it's an order. We have to be sure there are no lingering effects of the poison or the antidote. You can leave again in the morning."

Clarke closes her mouth around the argument she had been on the verge of mounting. “Fine. I assume I’ll have the pleasure of Eric’s company all night?”

"He and I will take shifts checking in on you, yes." Abby looks at Lexa who has just opened her mouth to say something, but Abby beats her to it. "And yes, you can stay. Just don't keep her up."

Question preemptively answered, Lexa shuts her mouth with a snap. She nods. "Of course, Abigail."

Abby kisses Clarke’s forehead before leaving the two of them alone again. It’s such a surprising display of affection, Clarke doesn’t remember to argue about being able to stay in her own room until her mother is out the door.

“Are you alright?” She turns back to Lexa and does a quick scan of her person. New clothes, and no visible injuries. Clarke must’ve been out for a few hours. “Your chest. It didn’t look deep, but it was hard to tell with all the blood...”

"I'm alright," Lexa assures her, taking Abby's place at Clarke's beside. She pulls the neck of her shirt to one side to reveal a strip of bandages across her collarbone. "It looks worse than it is - nothing a few sutures couldn't solve. Which is more than can be said for you."

“Apparently.” Clarke sighs and leans back against the bed, content to relax for now. “Guess I’ve moved up in the world, to warrant my own personal assassination attempt.”

"You should not be so flippant about this, Clarke," Lexa says with a frown. "Your mother is upset, but she is also right: if anyone else had been there--"

“I know.” Clarke reaches for Lexa’s hand and squeezes. “I’m sorry for scaring you. But you saved me - like you always do. Well, you and Taylor, apparently.”

"And Lincoln," Lexa notes. "And Alfred."

“Is Lincoln okay? I would be surprised if he didn’t have a concussion...” something Lexa said finally registers. “Alfie! Where is he?? Did you train him to fight like that?”

"Lincoln is also fine," Lexa says, answering each question in turn. "The injury to his head was only a cut, inflicted by the edge of one of your metal shelves. He has a few other scrapes and bruises, and has warned us to avoid Octavia for a few days, but is otherwise hale and healthy.

"As for Alfred...we have been working on it. We have no real targets to practice with, for obvious reasons." Clarke gets a mental image of Alfie chowing down on Bellamy's arm and has to force herself to keep listening to Lexa. "But he is alright as well. I left him back at the tent for now. I did not think Abby would appreciate a dog in her hospital."

“I imagine not,” Clarke chuckles. “I wouldn’t mind seeing him, though. My little hero. I’m glad he’s okay. And I’m glad Octavia hasn’t come to murder me for getting her boyfriend hurt. Yet, anyway.” She squeezes Lexa’s hand again, this time a little harder. “Thank you for saving me, again.”

Lexa sits on the side of the bed and bends low, cupping Clarke's face between her hands and pressing her forehead to Clarke's. "I would appreciate it if I never had to do it again," she says softly, and though there's a faint smile on her face it is barely concealing the anguish that lies beneath. "I never thought my fear of you being kidnapped could be topped. And yet."

Clarke tilts her head up and kisses Lexa softly on the lips. “Well at least this time was a lot faster,” she murmurs with a smirk. “Pain, pass out, wake up with you next to me. Took like no time at all.”

"Convenient for you - it felt like three life times to me," Lexa mutters. She pulls away to throw a disgusted look at the artificial light. "I _hate_ these rooms."

“Honestly? Me too. Never liked them. Even on the Ark where we had dimmer, warmer lights, for some reason they were never installed in med wards.” Clarke pats the space next to her on the bed - which is to say, the bare sliver of space that’s left on the tiny mattress. “Want to come here? I know Mom and Eric will be checking up on us, but somehow I don’t think they’ll yell at us just for cuddling.”

"I do not think being yelled at must be _our_ concern," Lexa mutters, but she stoops to unlace her boots. After toeing them off, she pulls her legs up onto the bed and settles on her side, her head resting on her elbow so she can see Clarke's face. "The last time Eric witnessed affection between us, he grew so flustered I feared he might pass out."

Clarke laughs and then winces as the laughter echoes painfully in her head. "Okay, maybe I am being a little flippant. What did you call it, Shadow Knife? More like 'insides-on-fire-knife.'"

"I will have more to say on that, I promise you," Lexa mutters wryly. The wryness drops when she adds, "But you should rest. Really, Clarke. We were lucky not to be far from someone who could help you, and your people were able to treat you quickly. But your body is going to need time to recover."

"Oh, fine," Clarke grumbles even as she snuggles into the crook of Lexa's arm. "You're all lucky I'm too tired to argue with you."

"I know, _ai etwai,"_ Lexa hums, and presses a kiss to the top of her head. "We are all grateful for the reprieve, I assure you."

Clarke snorts. "Rude, but fair."

She feels Lexa's chest vibrate with a chuckle beneath her cheek. The warmth of Lexa's body and the steady beat of her heart in Clarke's ear is such a relief, she snuggles in even closer. It all happened so fast, she didn't really have time to be scared - she was so concerned about Lexa being recognized and eliminating that possibility that by the time she noticed what was happening to her own body, it was too late to register much of anything. Just pain and fear, and Lincoln taking her away from Lexa. That was it.

Not that she isn't grateful, of course. Lincoln probably saved her life as much as anyone else by getting her here in time. But now that she has a little time to think on it...to think how close they came to being torn apart, again. It's enough to make Clarke's stomach sink heavily with delayed anxiety. She's fine - Lexa is fine. But they're always one step away from not fine. Always standing on a knife's edge, waiting for the next thing to tip them over into danger.

Clarke takes several long, deep breaths and forces herself to focus on the rhythm of Lexa's heart. The monotony is soothing, and in short order her breaths become more even and she falls into a deep sleep, her ear and available hand pressed possessively to Lexa's chest.

They both wake to the sound of a dog barking.

Clarke hears it in her dream first - where Alfie is being kicked to the ground by a faceless _Azgedan_ warrior, and her friends are being beaten down around her - and wakes with a start when her brain registers that it's not just in her head. Her cheek is imprinted around a fold of Lexa's shirt, and the thin fabric lifts with her when she tips her head upwards to look at the door. 

The noise and Clarke's movements is enough to wake Lexa, who squinches her eyes closed and her nose up as she stirs. "What in the..." she mutters, but before she can finish the thought, the hospital room door slides open. A barking, blurry, fifty-five pound ball of fur and legs launches itself from the doorway and onto the foot of the bed, paws scrambling over legs as Clarke and Lexa shout and Alfred barks happily.

" _Alright! Alright! Down!"_ Lexa says in Trigedasleng, laughing as the dog wiggles this way and that and makes a general mess of the bed and their persons. When he ends up inadvertently stepping on the inside of Lexa's thigh her voice shoots up an octave: " _Aaaaah_ okay! _Down, Alfred! Down!!"_

"Alfie!" Clarke exclaims, utterly confused but pleased all the same. She grabs his face between her hands and laughs as he promptly jumps further up Lexa's person to get within licking range of Clarke's face. "I guess you're feeling better! How did you get in here?"

"On my stomach now - _Alfred, DOWN!"_

With the assistance of Lexa's hand on his back, Alfie is finally convinced to lay down on the bed. He still has his head up and is doing his damndest to lick any part of Clarke he can find, but at least he isn't standing on anyone's kidney anymore.

"Turns out, he knows how to work doors," says a voice from doorway. With the chaos of a happy dog settled down, Clarke notices Raven standing in the entrance for the first time; she casually swings one end of Alfie's lead from her hand and leans a shoulder against the doorframe. "It was the darndest thing - you'd think he had thumbs or something."

"Crazy what animals in a post-apocalyptic Earth are capable of," Clarke agrees, as solemnly as can be possible through a wide smile. "Was the _dog_ worried about me?"

"I'd have to imagine so," Raven says. She folds her arms over her chest and shrugs. "What with the whole coming over here first thing in the morning and all. Seems like the sorta thing a worried _dog_ would do."

Clarke continues to scratch behind Alfie's ears with one hand and beckons Raven over with the other. "I'm sorry I worried him. I'm okay, just one more scar to add to the list." She raises her elbow to indicate the bandage around her bicep, as if it weren't perfectly obvious before. "Does everyone in Arkadia know about what happened by now?"

"There are a lot of rumors, but the Council's been pretty tight lipped about it." Raven judiciously chooses to come around to the far side of the bed, rather than join the side that Lexa is already half wedged into. Alfred's tail is still joyously wagging, his snout now resting on Clarke's shoulder. 

Raven draws one of the chairs away from the wall and plops into it, kicking one leg up on the bed frame. Then she lifts the front of the tank top she wears so she can access her front pocket, pulls out the communicator, and tosses it next to Clarke. "A certain someone confirmed to me what happened though, so I could tell another certain someone. And that second certain someone had something to say."

"You told her it wasn't about Lexa, right? That she's okay?" Clarke's heartrate accelerates at the mere thought that Helena would think something else had happened to Lexa, but she snatches up the communicator and begins reading before she can process Raven's response.

"I did, yeah," Raven says with a crooked smirk. "She still had something to say."

And sure enough, the message on the screen reads: _I'm coming_.

"Goddamnit," Clarke grumbles. Lexa leans over her shoulder, presumably to get a look at the message, but Clarke focuses her attention on Raven. "Not that I'm not thrilled to see her, but being on the road is dangerous - for her in particular."

Alfie rolls his weight to one side, putting most of it in Lexa's lap and exposing his belly for scratches. Lexa obliges absently as she looks from the screen to Raven. "Does Abby know about this?"

"Not yet," Raven says with a shrug that makes that seem much less of a problem than it is. "Figured I'd see if you two wanted to yell at her a bunch first. I already tried; that's not the first time she sent that."

"Unfortunately, she and Lexa have their stubbornness in common." A scoff from beside her indicates what Lexa thinks of that assessment. Clarke ignores her and types, _It's Clarke. I'm fine, I promise. Don't put yourself in more danger_ even as she continues speaking _._ "I'll try, but she's probably already on her way if she sent this last night."

"More like early, early, early this morning," Raven answers.

"Our people have been patrolling the routes between _Skaikru_ and _Floukru_ territory, but even so." Lexa says, speaking more to Clarke than to Raven - despite the fact that Clarke has spent the last twelve hours confined to this bed. "If _Azgeda_ made an attempt on your life, they may have one planned for Helena and for Indra as well. Perhaps it would be best for them to be here."

The possibility that Indra and Helena would also be in danger hadn't occurred to Clarke. The blood drains from her face at the thought. "That...is a good point. I still think they would be safer shoring up defenses where they are but if Helena is already on her way, we can at least keep her safe here. Or if she refuses to listen to me, which seems likely." 

Clarke pushes herself up further until she's in more of a sitting position and starts throwing blankets off of herself. Alfie makes a _hmmph_ sound as one lands across his snout. "Can't wait to tell Mom about this."

Lexa scoots Alfie's butt over until he gets the hint to hop off the bed. Then she stands and offers a hand to Clarke to help her up. "I imagine this won't be the only thing she has to talk about," she mutters.

"You mean she hasn't already chewed you out for letting spies through the gate? You must've really scared her," Raven hums, and Lexa shoots her a glare.

“I told the guards to let them in, it was my fault,” Clarke squeezes her eyes shut for several moments after standing, waits for the head rush to subside. “They were hours late, and they had Jax with them. I was eager to be done for the day,” she shrugs. It _was_ her fault, really. Abby would know that, and yet...Raven is right. She really hadn’t given Clarke nearly as many pieces of her mind as Clarke would expect, at least not last night.

It’s then, and only then, does it finally occur to her to turn to Lexa and ask, “What _did_ happen after I passed out?”

"I was not present for the beginning," Lexa admits sheepishly. "You had to get here quickly, and with my injury I could not carry you. Lincoln was still able to run, so he brought you ahead. I believe he is the one who relayed what occurred. By the time I arrived with the poisoned weapon, they had tallied your symptoms. I was able to deduce the poison from there."

"But my mom - she was here?" Clarke hesitates, then rolls her eyes at herself and ploughs on, "How bad was it, is what I'm asking."

"She wasn't here when Lincoln arrived," Lexa answers, and there's a wariness in her eyes now. Clarke's temper flares; of course they hadn't told her everything. "Your heart stopped for a time. I do not know what your healers did to restore its rhythm, but Abby came shortly after they did."

It takes Clarke several seconds of silence to process that. Her heart stopped? Her heart _stopped?_ Clarke knows, logically, that cardiac arrest was a possibility. She knew it even before she passed out - that much stress to her system would throw the usual rhythm of her heart completely off balance. But it's another thing entirely to know that she was technically without a heart beat for at least as long as it would've taken for whoever was on call to grab the defibrillator.

No wonder her mother was so nice to her last night.

"A defibrillator, probably," Clarke clarifies, even though Lexa hadn't asked. Alfie has made his way around the bed and sits, strangely, beside Clarke instead of his usual place at Lexa's side. She leans down and scratches his head absently. "It's a device that delivers electrical charges directly into the heart. The idea is that shocking it will interrupt the chaotic rhythm of cardiac distress and set the heart back to its normal rhythm. Or shock it back into beating, in this case."

Lexa has no response for that, and Clarke's attention is, for the moment, with Abby. Until Raven's chair scratches across the floor, and she stands.

"Well, at least we have confirmation that you do, in fact, have a heart, Clarke," she says, and scoops up the communicator. She puts it back in her pocket as she says, "I should get back to the garage. But I'll let you know if-when Helena answers."

Clarke rolls her eyes, but Raven's characteristic sarcasm manages to bring a smirk to her lips. "A pretty badass one at that, apparently." Just as quickly though, her expression softens into a genuine smile. "Thanks for checking on me, Ray. Or for bringing Alfie to check on me," she amends.

"He kept yelling at me until I did," Raven says as she comes around the bed. She pauses in front of Clarke, looking from one eye to the other, before stepping forward and pulling her into a hug. "I'm glad you're safe, Clarke," she says against her shoulder.

"Me too," Clarke agrees, her voice muffled slightly by Raven's shirt. She steals herself for a few seconds - allows herself to feel vulnerable and comforted by her best friend's arms. And then she pulls away, a small smile back in place. "They're going to have to try harder than that to get rid of me, especially when I have you guys to back me up."

"Hell yeah they are," Raven says with a grin. She catches Lexa's eye, and Lexa matches her smile with a small one of her own, and nods. Raven looks like she's just about to go when she stops herself. "Oh," she says, and reaches into her back pocket to reveal...a small white and silver square, and a pair of headphones. "Remember that old iPod I found in Polis? I finally got it working again."

"You got it working?!" Clarke does not hesitate to grab the little square from Raven's hands, poison and assassination and difficult conversations with her mother entirely forgotten. "You should've led with that! What kind of music is on it?"

"I dedicated _e_ _ntirely_ too much time to figuring out how to import my playlist from the Ark's computer," Raven explains, her hands stuffed into her back pockets. Lexa peers over Clarke's shoulder at the device, regarding it with a curiosity that borders on suspicion. "So that's about it. But you can borrow it for a while, if you want."

"I want. I want very, very much." Clarke throws her arms around Raven again, this time with far more aggressive exuberance. "Thank you. I won't break it, promise."

"You'd better not!" Raven says, and for all that she hugs her back, there is sincere warning in her voice. "That thing is literally over a hundred years old, and might be the last one left in existence. If you break it, I swear, Clarke, I'll..."

“You’ll kill me yourself, I know,” Clarke nods solemnly. “I promise I won’t hurt it. I’ll even give it back after I show Lexa what it does - the look on her face will be worth the risk of letting it out of your sight, I promise.”

"I," Lexa says, "am suddenly worried."

"You should be," Raven says - and then she leans over to stage whisper: "It's a sex thing."

Lexa's face goes pink immediately, and she looks rapidly between Clarke and Raven.

“It is _not_ a sex thing,” Clarke attempts to reassure Lexa, even as she narrows her eyes disapprovingly at Raven. “Dating Helena is having a negative effect on you.”

"Please. She's brought out the most perfect version of me," Raven answers - and for all the teasing in her voice, it's a decidedly honest, even sweet, sentiment. Perhaps that's why she immediately turns to the door. "Anyway. Good luck with Abby. Try not to let her kill you."

Raven tosses Alfred's leash on the foot of the bed and waltzes out. Lexa watches her go before turning to Clarke.

"Your friend is strange."

Clarke sighs and shakes her head at Raven’s retreating form, an unwilling smile on her face. “I know. Come on, let’s go reassure everyone that I’m not dead. And maybe avoid Mom for as long as possible.”

Avoiding Abby turns out to be a bit easier than one might anticipate. Abby's schedule changes from day to day of course, and emergencies regularly change even the most set of plans. But after eighteen years of knowing her, Clarke has a good sense for how she likes to do things - and at any rate, it doesn't seem like Abby is actively looking for her.

 _Eighteen years_. Clarke can't remember the last time she looked at a calendar. Is she even still eighteen? She'll have to check tomorrow.

After checking in with the nurse on duty - and narrowly avoiding an on-duty Eric - they venture out into a bright summer morning. Alfie follows close on their heels, and though he listens diligently as ever to Lexa's orders, its Clarke's side he lingers by. When they stop by the cafeteria to get some breakfast, he sits down next to Clarke. When they find a spot in the grass to sit and watch the city come to life, its Clarke's knee he rests his head on.

At one point in the midst of Clarke stroking his head, she wonders aloud, “Do you think he finally likes me? Or does he think I’m too fragile to leave alone now that he’s defended my life in battle?”

Lexa doesn't answer immediately. Resting back on her hands, her legs crossed in front of her, her shoulder and side provide a solid place for Clarke to lean on. As such, Clarke can't quite see her face.

"I think he's worried," she ultimately says - which isn't actually all that different from thinking Clarke is too fragile to be left alone. "He liked you before. And he knows he almost lost you."

“He liked me before?” Clarke snorts. “That’s news.” But even in an attempt to be flippant, she can feel it falling flat. Feel Lexa’s resistance to levity in the rigidity of her posture. “He didn’t lose me, though. I’m right here,” she leans a little further into Lexa’s side. “With both of you.”

"I know," Lexa says softly, and Clarke feels her press a kiss to the back of her head. She feels her own stomach clench uncomfortably, the shortness of words and stiffness of posture a worryingly familiar pattern. But Lexa follows up with, "What was that thing Raven gave you?" and the worry passes.

“Oh! Right, the iPod.” Clarke fishes the square and the headphones out of her pocket. She’s never used one of these before, but she’s used a CD player and the Ark’s tech was touch sensitive. It should be a similar concept... “Remember when I was telling you and Helena about CDs?” Clarke asks as she fumbles with the controls. “This is just like that. It holds music that was recorded a long time ago, and can be played over and over. And you listen to it through this - here.”

Lexa takes the ear bud in one hand and holds it up in front of her face. Her eyes narrow as though she could divine its purpose through sheer will. "This doesn't look like much of an instrument..."

Clarke laughs and shakes her head. “No, you put it in your ear. It’s a speaker...here, let me show you.” Lexa looks apprehensive, but she watches Clarke place one earbud in her ear and frowns only a little uncertainly as Clarke places the second in Lexa’s own ear.

“Okay,” Clarke says, and scoots closer still so that the cord of the headphones doesn’t pull, “so just...listen.”

She probably could've tried to find something chill and slow, something that doesn't open with blaring or alarming sound. Instead, as _Fat Bottom Girls_ starts to play, out of the silence of the headphones comes the definitely-too-loud voice of Freddie Mercury.

"OOOOOOOOOH!" He sings, and Lexa's entire body jerks backwards. She swats hurriedly at her ear, knocking the earbud out and jumping halfway to a crouch, her chest rising and falling rapidly with panicked breath.

“Sorry!” Clarke exclaims, and simultaneously attempts to pause the iPod and calm Alfie who is on high alert at Lexa’s sudden movement. He pounces up onto all four paws, muscles tensed, a thin growl emanating from this throat. “It’s okay, buddy, I’m sorry,” she says quietly, as much to Lexa as to the dog, “everything’s okay.”

Alfie grumbles but eventually takes Clarke’s queue and lays back down, this time even closer against her thigh. As if he’s still nervous something terrible will leap out and attack them. 

Lexa seems no better than the dog. She’s recovered her senses enough to sit back down, but this time settles cross legged beside Clarke and only after staring it down for several seconds tentatively picks the earbud back up.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve warned you. And turned it down... but it’s just sound,” Clarke attempts to explain. “It can’t hurt us. Try one more time?”

Lexa stares accusingly at the bud. "This is enjoyable for you?" she asks lowly, but she does begrudgingly put it back in her ear.

Clarke chuckles and scoots a little closer to accommodate the cord. “I think you will too, just give it a chance.”

It isn’t exactly intuitive how to turn the volume down, but Clarke manages it. Then she waits until Lexa meets her eyes and says, “Okay, here we go,” before pressing play.

There's no dramatic jump this time - just a flinch, and an instinctive closing of the eyes. Lexa sits for several seconds with her brow furrowed, discomfort clear on her face, as the accapella opening shifts into the full band.

"This is very strange!" Lexa says, speaking louder than necessary to accommodate the sound in her ears. She opens one eye, still wincing as she forces herself to look at Clarke.

She grins, exceedingly pleased despite Lexa’s obvious discomfort. Does that make her a bad girlfriend? Clarke can dissect that later.

“Freddie Mercury maybe wasn’t the best intro,” Clarke admits, a little louder than usual for Lexa’s benefit. She scrolls through the songs on Raven’s playlist, searching for something even remotely more calm.

There isn’t much, unsurprisingly.

She has Lexa take the headphone out of her ear and cycles through a ten second clip of each song that comes up. Buried beneath several dozen rock songs, some old, some new, in six different languages, and all loud, she comes across an unexpectedly slow opening. She listens to a full verse of the Rescues' _The City and the River_ before offering Lexa the headphone back.

She skips back to the beginning while Lexa cautiously puts the earbud back in her ear. The song doesn't really fit with the rest of Raven's apparent audio aesthetic, and yet…

The more Clarke listens to the lyrics, the more she can see why Raven felt drawn enough to this song to interrupt her hardcore rock vibes. And the more she watches Lexa’s reaction, the more sure she is that she made the right song selection.

Lexa, previously on guard, gradually relaxes. She doesn't comment this time, and when Clarke tips her head up to look at her, she sees that Lexa has closed her eyes. There's still a furrow in her brow, a look of intense concentration that is certainly not merited by the lilting lyrics, but she no longer looks actively displeased. 

Settling back against Lexa's side, Clarke takes a leaf out of her girlfriend's book. She closes her eyes and allows herself to fall into this moment: the brush of the grass, the warm smell of the air, the heat of the sun on her skin. The song is a soft, if pained ballad of - as the name suggests - a city's love for the river it's built alongside. She focuses on its lyrics and its sound fills her chest with a kind of content melancholy. 

And her mind turns, unbidden, to memories of Finn - and she knows immediately why this song is on Raven's playlist.

Any time Finn has come to mind since he died, Clarke has immediately and adamantly shoved all feeling to the farthest corners of her mind. It doesn’t help anything to dwell on the past.

But Clarke is different now. Time and distance, her experiences over the past six months, and most importantly her relationship with Lexa have changed the way she deals with painful feelings. It’s tempting to push them away, but Clarke forces herself to live inside them. For a few moments...and then a few more...for a whole minute and on into a new chorus. Until there’s almost no pain at all - only an ache. A scar that will never quite heal over, but no longer burns.

Perhaps she can sense the change in Clarke's mood, or maybe the song has gotten to her as well. Either way, Clarke feels Lexa shift forward a little, putting herself somehow closer yet. She rests her cheek against the top of Clarke's head for a time, the arm previously propping her up curling around Clarke's hip. 

When the song finishes, Lexa takes the earbud from her ear and rubs it a second. "That was..." she says slowly, "Strange. But not unpleasant."

“I’ll take ‘not unpleasant.’” Clarke smiles and takes the earbud from Lexa’s hand, only a little concerned that she might inadvertently harm it and Clarke’s ass will be the one to pay the price. “This is how we are able to remember music from the past. Or, I guess how we used to be able to remember it.”

There is silence as Lexa considers this. Then: "...this song...is from the world before?" She asks, her voice a mix of wonder and disbelief. "It is over a hundred years old?"

Clarke nods. “Well over, actually. Like I’ve told you, my people as they are now - from the Ark - have no real history. We relied on the culture that came before us to survive, but really it’s like we were waiting to shape our own. Until we came here.” She nudges Lexa’s side gently, still aware after everything of where Lexa was injured. “Maybe your people can teach us how to create our own music, once we solve this whole impending war thing.”

Lexa emits an amused not-quite-hum, not-quite-laugh. It promises Clarke that Lexa's mind is still elsewhere.

"More than a hundred years later, in a world that they would never see and that would never know them...and still, we can hear their voice." Lexa sighs. "That is quite the legacy. They must have been great indeed."

Clarke is sure she’s mentioned before that anything they had to watch, listen to, or otherwise virtually experience was the result of the cultural tastes of a random assortment of astronauts. But she refrains from pointing this out again, and says instead, “They would be impressed to know how far their song has traveled, I’m sure. Maybe Ray can find a way to hook up a sound system in Polis, one day. Let everyone hear what kind of music the people of Earth used to make.”

"Mm. I do not think that is wise," Lexa says, and this time she chuckles. And for a moment, Clarke has the mental image of a thousand Grounders reacting the way Lexa just had, but all at once. "Perhaps...something more gradual."

They cycle through a few more songs, Lexa growing more or less comfortable with the sound depending on the bass level. Their listening session only comes to an end when the shift changes just before dinner, and a certain security officer spots them from a dozen yards away. Bellamy breaks off from the off-duty guards he was with and charges across the grass to them; Clarke barely makes it to her feet before he's tackled her in a bear hug. It's several minutes of hurried explanations of new security procedures and ideas he has for rewriting protocol to better guard their caravans from infiltration before Clarke can get him to listen to her say she's fine. He then sits in the grass with them as Clarke recounts once more what happened - with Lexa growing quieter and more reserved as she does.


End file.
